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THE   FEET   OF   THE   FURTIVE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •   BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


At  last  one  alighted  within  a  couple  of  feet  of  his  very  muzzle." 


THE 
FEET  OF  THE  FURTIVE 


BY 
CHARLES   G.  D.  ROBERTS 

AUTHOR    OF    "KINGS    IN    EXILE,"    "  NEIGHBORS 
UNKNOWN,"   ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1925 

All  rights  rt  served 


Copyright,  1911,  by  The  Cosmopolitan  Magazine,  The  Monthly  Magazine 
Section,  The  Illustrated  Sunday  Magazines,  The  Associated  Sunday  Maga- 
zines, The  Metropolitan  Magazine,  The  Christian  Herald,  and  Collier's 


COPYRIGHT,  1913, 
Bv  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  February,  1913. 
Reissued  December,  1925. 


J.  8.  Cashing  Co.  —  Berwick  <fe  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


GIFT 


CONTENTS 

FACE 

THE  GAUNTLET  OF  FIRE i 

THE  KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 29 

IN  THE  YEAR  OF  No  RABBITS 52 

THE  INVADERS 71 

A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 95 

THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 120 

WITH  His  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 140 

KING  OF  BEASTS 165 

IN  THE  WORLD  OF  THE  GHOST-LIGHTS  ....  195 
THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED  AT  THE  DOOR    .        .        .218 

PUCK  o1  THE  DUSK 260 

A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER 280 

ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS 3O2 

THE  SPOTTED  STRANGER         321 

THE  FEUD 343 

RED  DANDY  AND  MACTAVISH 363 


714 


THE   FEET   OF   THE   FURTIVE 


The  Gauntlet  of  Fire 

IN  a  way  they  knew  each  other  pretty  well 
these  two,  the  man  and  the  bear.  For 
nearly  two  years  they  had  been  acknowledged 
adversaries. 

The  man  had  actually  seen  the  bear  but 
once,  and  then  for  a  swift  glimpse  only  —  a 
flash  of  shrewd,  fierce,  inquisitive  eyes  from 
a  spruce  thicket,  and  a  portentous  black 
shadow  sinking  away  noiselessly  into  the 
chequered  gloom.  But  he  knew  well  those 
great  tracks  —  a  third  as  large  again  as  those 
of  the  average  black  bear  of  Eastern  Canada  — 
which  drew  their  menacing  trail  all  about  his 
cabin.  He  knew  those  claw-marks  on  the 
deep-scarred  stretching-trees,  where  the  owner 
of  the  claws  set  his  signature  almost  as  high 
as  a  grizzly  might  have  set  it. 

And  he  had  studied  sundry  massive  stumps, 
only  half  decayed,  which  those  redoubtable 
claws  had  ripped  open  like  punk  in  the  search 


2          THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

for  ants  and  grubs.  From  all  this  it  was  not 
difficult  to  infer  that  he  had  here  a  formidable 
rival  for  the  sovereignty  of  this  wilderness 
domain  which  he  had  just  pre-empted  —  a  rival 
who  would  probably,  by  and  bye,  when  the 
little  farm  came  to  be  stocked,  levy  severe 
tax  on  his  sheep  and  cattle. 

Moreover,  he  realized  that  this  rival  must 
be  clothed  in  a  pelt  of  special  magnificence, 
which  would  command  a  special  price  in  the 
fur-market.  In  the  intervals  of  his  chopping 
and  clearing,  his  potato-planting  and  his 
sowing  of  buckwheat,  his  barn-building  and 
his  brush-burning,  he  went  about  to  set  traps 
for  this  dangerous  antagonist,  who,  as  he 
rightly  inferred,  would  be  too  crafty  to  come 
within  reach  of  his  gun. 

The  bear,  on  the  other  hand,  knew  the  man 
much  better  than  the  man  knew  him.  From 
the  man's  first  arrival  on  the  banks  of  the 
wild  South  Fork,  the  great  black  beast  had 
shadowed  him  —  with  some  hostility,  of  course, 
as  a  stranger,  and  a  disturber  of  the  solitudes, 
but  more  with  a  keen  curiosity.  For  all  his 
giant  bulk,  he  could  move,  when  he  chose,  as 
noiselessly  as  a  mink  or  a  snake.  Motionless 
as  one  of  the  ancient  stumps  left  by  forgotten 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE          3 

lumbermen,  he  had  watched  the  flash  and  the 
swing  of  the  man's  axe,  the  crashing  fall  of 
birch  and  fir  and  ash,  as  the  clearing  widened 
and  let  in  the  sunlight  upon  the  tangled 
forest  floor. 

With  wonder  he  had  seen  the  two  powerful 
red  oxen,  obedient  to  the  man's  sharp  word 
of  command,  drag  the  trimmed  logs  into  one 
place;  and  then  had  marked  the  cabin  grow 
into  shape,  a  surprising  shape,  beneath  the 
man's  skilled  hands.  At  first  he  had  been 
amazed  that  the  two  great  oxen  should  be  so 
subservient,  instead  of  turning  upon  the  man 
and  piercing  him  with  their  long  horns  or 
trampling  him  beneath  their  cleft  hoofs. 

But  soon  he  had  grown  to  appreciate  an 
inexplicable  mastery  in  the  man's  voice,  in  his 
unconscious  indifference  to  whatever  eyes 
might  be  watching  him  from  the  dark,  sur- 
rounding coverts.  It  was  plain  that  the  man 
had  no  fear.  Then,  of  a  certainty  he  must 
be  very  strong.  So  the  bear  began  to  fear, 
though  he  could  perceive,  at  first,  no  cause  of 
fear,  except  that  mysterious  something  in  the 
man's  voice,  which  seemed  to  make  the  oxen 
obey  and  toil  with  grunting  patience. 

And  then,  one  day  after  the  cabin  was  built, 


4         THE  GAUNTLET  OF  FIRE 

when  the  man  was  out  of  sight  within,  and 
the  heat  hummed  with  gnats  and  flies  all 
round  the  sun-steeped  clearing,  and  the  red 
oxen  lay  in  the  shade  chewing  their  cud  lazily 
and  heaving  great  windy  breaths,  he  had  seen 
a  tall  buck  wander  out  from  among  the  trees 
and  stand  staring  at  the  cabin. 

The  man  had  stepped  forth  from  the  cabin 
door,  and  raised  to  his  shoulder  what  looked 
like  a  long,  brown  stick.  Instantly  a  jet  of 
white  flame  had  leapt  from  the  tip  of  the 
stick,  with  a  short,  biting  roar.  And  the 
buck,  far  away  at  the  other  side  of  the 
clearing,  had  leapt  into  the  air  and  fallen 
forward  on  his  muzzle,  dead.  A  chill  had 
shuddered  across  the  bear's  nerves  at  this 
sight,  and  he  had  sunk  back  further  into  the 
thickets. 

No  wonder  the  big,  red  oxen,  for  all  their 
savage-looking  horns,  obeyed  this  being,  who, 
simply  by  pointing  a  little  stick  and  making  a 
sharp  noise,  could  kill  from  very  far  off. 
Thereafter  the  bear  was  still  more  wary  in  his 
observation  of  the  terrible  intruder,  but  this 
dread  and  hostility  only  made  him  the  more 
watchful.  Clearly  he  could  not  afford  to  lose 
sight  of  the  man  for  any  length  of  time, 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE          5 

lest  unguessed  and  unheard-of  things  should 
happen. 

In  this  way  it  came  about  that  when  the 
man,  having  got  his  first  seeding  and  planting 
over,  and  his  cabin  weather-tight,  set  about 
the  enterprise  of  trapping  the  bear,  the  bear 
knew  something  about  it.  Of  all  the  unseen, 
inquisitive  spectators  whose  shy,  wild  eyes 
watched  the  work  —  squirrels,  partridge,  hares, 
raccoons,  rain-birds,  wood-mice,  deer,  foxes, 
and  owls  —  the  bear  was  by  far  the  most 
interested  and  the  most  comprehending. 

When  the  first  trap  —  a  massive  dead-fall  — - 
was  built,  baited,  and  set,  and  the  man  had 
gone  away  to  leave  it  free  to  do  its  cruel 
work,  the  bear  had  subjected  it  to  a  most 
sagacious  scrutiny.  Though  no  one  had  ever 
told  him  how  Troy  fell,  he  had  been  gifted  by 
Nature  with  that  rudimentary  sagacity  in 
which  the  men  of  Troy  seem  to  have  been  so 
unhappily  deficient ;  and  he  feared  the  man, 
even  bearing  gifts.  He  smelt  the  bait  —  a 
lump  of  savoury  fat  pork  —  at  a  discreet  dis- 
tance; and  decided  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Not  for  any  good  purpose,  he 
thought,  could  such  a  delicacy  be  left  to 
the  first  chance  comer. 


6         THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

While  he  was  watching  and  pondering, 
hidden  in  a  clump  of  fir-seedlings  whose 
aromatic  fragrance  disguised  his  scent,  a 
bob-tailed  wild-cat  came  prowling  by.  She 
saw  the  glistening  white  bait,  held  up  to  her 
so  temptingly  on  the  prong  of  the  deadfall. 
Her  round,  pale  eyes  gleamed  greedily, 
though  her  ears  flattened  in  angry  apprehen- 
sion at  the  strong  man-smell  of  the  tracks 
surrounding  it.  She  was  not  intelligent,  the 
bob-cat.  She  knew  enough,  merely,  to  know 
that  the  delectable  morsel  belonged  to  the 
man.  Well,  he  was  nowhere  in  sight.  Even 
now,  she  could  hear  his  far-off  voice  shouting 
to  those  stupid  oxen.  Crouching  low,  she  ran 
forward  with  swift  stealth,  and  pounced, 
with  a  low  growl  of  exultation,  upon  the  prize. 
Something  seemed  to  give  way.  With  startled 
eyes  the  bear  saw  those  three  massive  logs, 
which  formed  a  roof  above  the  bait,  come 
crashing  down  upon  it.  With  an  ear-splitting 
screech,  cut  short  almost  ere  it  had  begun,  the 
unhappy  bob-cat  was  flattened  out  beneath  them. 

A  red  squirrel,  which  had  been  watching 
the  whole  thing  from  a  near-by  branch,  burst 
forth  into  hysterical  chatterings.  And  a  crow, 
dropping  on  black  wings  from  the  tree- 


THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE          7 

tops,  alighted  delicately  on  one  of  the  logs, 
and  with  head  cocked  knowingly,  as  if  to  say 
"I  told  you  so,"  peered  down  with  hard, 
bright  eyes  at  the  dead  wild-cat.  He  held 
that  all  wild-cats  should  be  dead.  It  was  the 
only  way  he  liked  them.  But  the  manner  in 
which  this  one's  destruction  had  been  brought 
about  struck  him  as  most  mysterious. 

From  that  day  all  the  man's  possessions 
seemed  to  the  bear  to  partake  of  the  nature  of 
traps  —  to  be  studied  with  dreadful  interest, 
but  on  no  account  to  be  touched.  So  it  came 
about  that  when,  in  course  of  time,  the  man 
brought  a  cow  and  a  calf  to  the  expanding 
clearing,  and  a  pig,  and  then  sheep,  and  half 
a  dozen  fussy  hens,  the  bear  never  laid  a  paw 
on  one  of  them.  His  mouth  watered  over 
the  sheep  in  particular,  but  they  looked  too 
suspiciously  easy.  They  were  surely  traps.  If 
he  should  seize  one,  the  sky,  perhaps,  would 
fall  upon  him  and  crush  him  as  flat  as  the 
wild-cat.  The  man,  instead  of  appreciating 
this  forbearance,  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  gave  it  never  a  thought.  But  he  grew 
furious  at  last  at  the  failure  of  all  his  trapping 
devices,  and  swore  to  have  the  bear's  pelt 
before  another  winter. 


8          THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

Late  that  summer  came  a  time  of  scorching 
drought.  The  South  Fork  stream,  a  turbu- 
lent torrent  always,  and  fed  by  unfailing 
spring  lakes  in  the  upper  barrens,  shrank  but 
little.  The  main  Ottanoonsis,  however,  re- 
vealed parched  bars  and  hoary  ledges  which 
the  oldest  woodsmen  in  three  counties  had 
never  before  seen  dry.  Many  a  forest  brook 
vanished  altogether,  its  memory  surviving 
only  in  chains  of  still,  black  water-holes 
lurking  under  the  giant  roots  in  the  cedar  and 
hackmatack  swamps.  And  many  a  wilderness 
lake  left  its  lilies  to  die  on  a  stinking  stretch 
of  raw,  root-cumbered  mud.  The  man, 
however,  was  not  greatly  troubled,  for  hardly 
three  hundred  yards  away,  beyond  the  foot 
of  his  clearing,  flowed  the  South  Fork,  defiant 
of  all  droughts.  His  buckwheat  and  potatoes 
were  too  well  advanced  to  be  quite  spoiled  by 
lack  of  rain.  And  his  stock  were  sure  of 
water. 

The  South  Fork,  at  this  point,  and  for 
perhaps  half  a  mile  each  way  above  and  below 
the  clearing,  ran  not  so  wildly  but  that  the 
man  could  navigate  it  in  comfort  and  fish  it 
from  his  big  "dug-out"  canoe.  Lower  down, 
the  rapids  became  almost  impassable  for  a 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF  FIRE          9 

distance  of  some  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  till  at 
last  the  mad  stream  calmed  itself  in  a  low- 
shored,  shallow  lake,  fringed  with  blue- 
berry plains. 

Under  the  lifeless  air  and  dry,  stagnant 
heat  the  forest  seemed  to  gasp  heavily,  wait- 
ing for  the  rain.  Presently,  instead  of  the 
longed-for  clouds,  greycool,  and  fragrant  with 
shower,  across  the  hard  blue  came  a  dun- 
coloured  haze,  through  which  the  sun  took  on 
the  look  of  a  disk  of  hot  copper.  The  balsamy 
odours  of  the  forest  gave  way  to  faint,  acrid 
breaths  which  made  the  eyes  smart  and  the 
nostrils  burn.  The  eagles,  hawks,  crows, 
and  all  strong-flying  birds,  disappeared.  All 
the  four-footed  prowlers  of  the  forest  coverts 
grew  uneasy,  apprehending  dangers  which  they 
knew  not  how  to  combat  or  to  flee  from. 
The  great  black  bear,  after  sniffing  anxiously 
with  muzzle  high  in  air,  toward  every  point 
of  the  compass,  lost  all  interest  in  the  man 
and  his  works,  and  took  himself  whimpering 
away  to  a  point  about  five  miles  downstream, 
where  a  deep  inlet  of  dead-water  jutted  off 
from  the  tumbling  current  of  South  Fork. 

A  little  later  the  man,  who  had  been  work, 
ing  in  a  dispirited  way  among  his  sickly- 


10       THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

looking  potatoes,  leaned  upon  his  hoe  and 
eyed  the  changing  sky  with  apprehension. 

"Fire,"  he  muttered,  "somewheres  round, 
an'  mebbe  not  far  off !  Hope  there  don't 
blow  up  no  wind  !" 

Then,  throwing  down  the  hoe,  he  yoked  the 
oxen  to  the  drag,  and  prepared  to  haul  up  two 
or  three  barrels  of  water  from  the  river  to 
the  cabin.  In  case  of  chance  sparks  blowing 
across  the  clearing,  he  thought,  it  might  be 
well  to  have  water  on  hand. 

He  went  about  this  task  rather  listlessly, 
weighed  down  by  the  dead  air  and  by  a  vague 
sense  of  foreboding.  But  when  he  halted  his 
slow  team  by  the  riverside  he  saw  across  the 
current  a  sight  which  shocked  him  into 
activity.  The  oxen  saw  it,  too,  and  woke  up, 
and  began  to  snort  and  strain  uneasily  at  the 
yoke.  Beyond  the  fringe  of  tree- tops  oppo- 
site, clouds  of  smoke  were  rolling  up,  with  here 
and  there  a  tongue  of  red  flame  flickering 
along  their  bases. 

The  man  became  a  demon  of  energy.  Leap- 
ing backwards  and  forwards  with  his  bucket 
between  the  waterside  and  the  barrel  on  the 
drag,  and  shouting  furiously  to  the  oxen  to 
stand  still,  he  speedily  had  the  barrel  full  to 


THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        11 

the  brim.  On  the  journey  back  to  the  cabin, 
however,  he  could  not  hurry.  The  track  was 
none  too  smooth,  and  he  had  to  steady  the 
barrel  laboriously  lest  its  precious  contents 
should  spill.  But  the  oxen  needed  no  urging, 
and,  after  a  perspiring  struggle  with  the  barrel 
through  the  hot  and  narrow  trail,  he  came  out 
upon  the  cleared  knoll  behind  the  cabin. 
There  he  stopped  short  in  consternation. 

Beyond  the  clearing,  along  the  southward 
horizon,  again  those  ominous  clouds  uprolling, 
again  those  thin,  red  tongues  upleaping 
viciously  and  disappearing.  From  opposite 
sides  the  fire  was  closing  in  upon  him.  And 
only  now  did  he  realize  the  appalling  peril. 
Water-barrels,  indeed !  With  a  bitter  laugh 
and  a  curse  at  the  futility  of  his  efforts,  a 
groan  of  rage  over  the  ruin  of  all  his  hopes,  he 
loosed  the  oxen  from  their  yoke,  and  raced 
with  long  strides  down  the  slope  to  set  free 
the  rest  of  the  stock.  He  would  give  them  all 
a  fair  chance  for  their  lives,  an  even  chance 
with  his  own.  Then,  snatching  up  his  lean 
leather  wallet  and  a  blanket  from  his  bunk, 
he  raced  for  the  river. 

The  bear,  meanwhile,  had  reached  the  little 
inlet  —  or  "bogan,"  as  the  Indians  call  it  — 


12       THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

five  miles  below.  He  found  it  already 
thronged  with  silent,  trembling  refugees.  For 
already,  both  to  north  and  south,  the  sky  was 
filled  with  smoke-clouds  which  volleyed  up  in 
dark,  rolling  masses,  and  winged  flames  were 
leaping  ravenously  from  tree-top  to  tree-top. 

To  eastward  the  two  conflagrations  were 
drawing  rapidly  together  under  the  draught 
of  a  rising  east  wind.  They  were  converging 
with  monstrous  speed  upon  the  river,  which 
just  at  this  point  made  a  turn  and  went  roar- 
ing off  to  south-westward,  over  a  series  of 
broken  ledges.  The  clamour  of  the  rapids 
was  beginning  to  be  dominated  by  a  more 
awful  sound  —  that  of  the  hissing  rush  and 
mutter  of  the  conflagration.  Smoke-blasts, 
pungent  and  stifling,  came  belching  erratically 
through  the  branches  and  swooping  down 
upon  the  water,  where  they  thinned  and 
spread,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the 
momently  discoloured  foam.  Here  and  there 
along  the  close-drawn  skyline  a  towering, 
solitary  pine-top  would  burst  into  flame  and 
flare  like  a  gigantic  signal  torch.  And  pres- 
ently, hurled  rocketing  through  the  air  as  if 
from  unseen  explosions,  came  blazing,  spark- 
ing brands,  starting  scout-fires,  so  to  speak,  in 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        13 

advance,  or  dropping  into  the  water  with  a 
harsh  and  terrifying  hiss. 

All  around  the  shores  of  the  narrow  bogan 
crowded  the  beasts,  watching  with  wide, 
fascinated  eyes  the  flight  and  fall  of  these 
disastrous  missiles.  Several  wild-cats,  and 
one  huge  grey  Canada  lynx,  crouched  at  the 
water's  edge,  or  on  out-thrust  stumps  and 
branches.  As  a  brand  fell  near  them  their 
ears  flattened  to  their  skulls,  and  they  shrank 
back,  spitting  wildly.  Their  ferocious  hunting 
hunger  was  clean  wiped  out  by  fear,  and  they 
paid  no  heed  whatever  to  the  shuddering 
hares,  gibbering  squirrels,  and  stoical,  indig- 
nant woodchucks  which  crowded  about  them. 
Even  the  bloodthirsty  weasels  for  once  for- 
got to  kill,  gliding  nervously  hither  and  thither 
among  the  trembling  ranks.  A  red  fox,  self- 
possessed  and  game  in  the  face  of  any  doom, 
sat  upon  his  haunches  on  the  tip  of  a  stranded 
log  and  eyed  the  tree- tops,  searching  in  his 
deep,  sagacious  mind  for  some  device  that 
might  outwit  this  awful  adversary. 

The  surface  of  the  bogan  was  alive  with 
swimming  mink,  musquash,  and  water-rat, 
daunted  by  the  catastrophe  which  was  about 
to  overwhelm  the  world,  yet  confident  in  the 


I4        THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

power  of  the  cold  element  they  loved  to  pro- 
tect them.  Standing  belly-deep  in  the  water, 
and  from  time  to  time  wallowing  in  it  to  cool 
themselves,  were  a  black  moose  bull  with  two 
cows,  and  half  a  score  of  red  deer.  As  for 
bears,  there  were  none  in  the  strange  con- 
course except  the  great,  black  bear  himself, 
he  having  jealously  driven  all  rivals  from  his 
range. 

Now,  after  a  brief  survey  of  the  situation, 
the  bear  waded  into  the  water.  He  plunged 
his  head  beneath  the  surface  to  ease  the  smart 
of  burning  eyes  and  nostrils.  At  the  point 
where  he  had  entered  it,  the  bogan  was 
shallow,  yet  with  a  soft,  sticky  bottom  which 
was  distasteful  to  his  feet.  As  he  stood  lift- 
ing one  foot  after  the  other,  uneasily,  out  of 
the  gathering  smoke-pall  came  whirling  down 
a  huge  brand,  red-hot,  and  struck  a  wild-cat 
crouching  on  a  near-by  branch.  With  a 
screech  the  cat  bounced  into  the  air,  and, 
finding  herself  about  to  fall  into  the  water, 
which  she  loathed,  squirmed  sideways,  and 
succeeded  in  clutching  the  bear's  capacious 
back.  Her  claws  sank  deep,  and,  with  a  growl 
of  pain,  he  tried  to  shake  her  off.  Mad  with 
terror,  and  appearing  to  regard  him  as  nothing 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        15 

more  than  an  animated  log,  she  clung  and 
clawed  the  more  tenaciously.  At  any  other 
time  he  would  have  wrenched  her  from  her 
place  and  torn  her  to  pieces.  But  now  it 
never  occurred  to  him  to  be  enraged.  The 
matter  was  quite  impersonal.  He  only  real- 
ized that  something  on  his  back  was  hurting 
him,  and  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  it.  Throw- 
ing himself  down,  he  rolled  over  in  the  water, 
burying  the  cat  in  the  ooze. 

When  he  got  up  again  his  objectionable 
burden  was  gone.  But  he  was  dissatisfied 
with  his  place  in  the  bogan.  The  water  was 
not  deep  enough  to  suit  him.  And,  more- 
over, he  felt  like  a  rat  in  a  corner.  He 
wanted  more  space,  more  air,  more  view, 
even  if  there  were  nothing  but  horrors  for  the 
view  to  reveal.  Shouldering  aside  a  couple  of 
red  bucks,  who  hardly  noticed  him  with  their 
great,  soft  eyes  of  terror,  he  waded  out  to  the 
entrance  of  the  bogan.  Here,  where  he  could 
feel  the  pull  of  the  eddy  trying  to  drag  him 
out  into  the  rapids,  he  took  his  place  in  a  depth 
of  water  that  came  about  his  shoulders.  An 
ungainly  cow-moose  stood  close  beside  him, 
flapping  her  big  ears  despondently,  and  star- 
ing, not  at  the  flames,  but  at  the  discoloured 


1 6        THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

waves  and  whipped  foam  racing  by.  Then 
past  his  nose  came  swimming  leisurely  a  big 
brown  otter.  Lifting  head  and  shoulders 
high  above  the  surface,  like  a  watchful  seal, 
the  swimmer  surveyed  the  rapids,  and  then 
plunged  straight  into  them,  heading  fearlessly 
downstream.  He  had  evidently  made  up  his 
mind  that  not  much  longer  would  the  little 
bogan  serve  for  a  refuge.  The  bear  eyed  his 
departure  wistfully,  and  pondered  it,  but  had 
no  heart  to  dare  the  lashed  waves  and  roaring 
ledges. 

But  by  this  time  the  roar  of  the  ledges  was 
unheard  for  the  wide,  ravening  tumult  of  the 
flames.  As  they  leapt  and  swooped  they 
almost  seemed  to  scream,  and  it  was  as  if 
the  smoke-clouds  themselves  found  voice  and 
thundered.  The  heat  grew  suffocating,  in- 
tolerable; and  sparks  and  brands  fell  so 
thick  about  the  bogan  that  some  of  the  beasts, 
with  fur  suddenly  shrivelling,  went  mad  and 
raced  off  into  the  furnace,  while  others  simply 
toppled  into  the  water  and  were  drowned 
forthwith.  The  beasts  who  knew  the  water 
sank  themselves  as  deeply  into  it  as  they 
could,  and  shudderingly  awaited  their  doom, 
but  the  wise  fox,  swimming  cautiously  around 


i 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        17 

the  edges  of  the  bogan  and  investigating  it, 
found  at  last  a  hollow  under  the  bank,  with 
drenched  roots  screening  the  entrance.  This 
admirable  little  retreat  was  already  packed 
with  muskrats  and  a  few  mink,  but  he 
crowded  himself  in  without  ceremony,  thrust- 
ing others  out  to  shift  for  themselves.  And 
as  the  dim  annals  of  his  race  record  that  he 
lived  to  hunt  hare  and  partridge,  in  later 
years,  about  the  scarred  stumps  of  the  man's 
abandoned  clearing,  it  is  evident  that  the 
retreat  proved  a  safe  one. 

The  bear,  meanwhile,  as  the  fiery  doom 
closed  in  upon  him,  began  to  tremble.  Ex- 
cept for  the  wise  fox,  he  was  the  only  beast  in 
all  that  wretched  company  with  intelligence 
enough  to  think  and  to  realize  the  full  horrors 
of  their  fate.  There  was  no  hole  under  the 
bank  big  enough  to  shelter  his  huge  bulk. 
He  whimpered  miserably,  and  turned  his  eyes 
with  longing  down  the  wild  channel  by  which 
the  other  had  fled.  But  he  could  not  dare  the 
path.  It  seemed  an  equally  sure  destruction. 
And  already  it  was  but  a  seething,  darkened 
avenue  of  violence  between  two  walls  of 
smoke  and  flame. 

And  the  bogan  too,  was  now  a  place  of 
c 


1 8        THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

horrors.  Its  surface  was  covered  with  the 
survivors  of  the  smaller  beasts,  a  wild-cat 
or  two,  innumerable  squirrels,  with  weasels, 
martens,  woodchucks,  mice,  raccoons,  and 
even  a  few  hares  whom  the  hour  of  supreme 
despair  had  taught  to  swim.  The  rest  were 
dead.  Several  of  the  deer,  too,  had  gone 
under,  in  the  bedlam  struggle  that  now 
milled  blindly  in  the  centre  of  the  pool. 
Besides  the  bear,  only  the  sombre  and  stoic 
moose  held  themselves  aloof  from  that  fatal 
vortex,  lying  down  in  the  water,  and  lifting 
their  muzzles  from  time  to  time  to  draw  a 
scorching  and  suffocating  breath. 

Suddenly,  chancing  to  turn  his  despairing 
eyes  upstream,  the  bear  saw  a  wild  shape 
dashing  downward  towards  him  through  the 
spray  and  smoke.  In  another  moment  he 
recognized  it.  It  was  the  man,  crouched  low 
in  the  stern  of  his  log  canoe,  and  steering  it, 
with  frantic  paddle,  between  the  rocks  and 
leaping  surges.  He  had  a  blanket  partly 
twisted  about  his  head;  and  one  corner  of 
it,  streaming  out  behind  him,  smoked  and 
smouldered.  He  headed  the  canoe  into  the 
bogan,  and  just  saved  himself  from  upsetting 
as  he  ran  slantingly  against  the  submerged 


THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        19 

back  of  one  of  the  moose.  He  came  to  a  stop 
within  arm's-length  of  the  bear,  and  the  latter 
saw  that  he  was  curiously  changed  in  appear- 
ance. His  great,  sinewy  hands  and  gaunt 
face  were  blackened  and  drawn,  and  his  eyes 
stared  terribly  from  sockets  whence  eyebrows 
and  lashes  had  been  scorched  away.  Neverthe- 
less, to  the  bear  his  coming  brought  a  sense 
of  security.  Here,  he  felt,  was  a  master 
spirit,  such  as  even  the  monsters  of  the  fire 
would  not  overcome.  He  whined  and  drew 
nearer  to  the  canoe,  a  dim  hope  rising  in  his 
heart.  The  man  noticed  him,  and  even  in  that 
moment  of  desperation  recognized  him,  with 
distorted  grin,  as  the  antagonist  who  had  so 
long  eluded  his  snares. 

"The  both  of  us  has  got  it  in  the  neck 
this  time,  old  pard,  I  reckon!"  he  muttered 
thickly,  snatching  off  the  blanket  and  hurriedly 
sopping  it  over  the  side  of  the  canoe.  Then, 
swinging  it  once  more,  all  dripping,  about  his 
shoulders  and  over  his  head,  and  gripping  a 
corner  of  it  between  his  teeth  to  enable  him 
to  breathe  through  it  in  the  thick  of  the 
smoke,  he  thrust  forth  again  into  the  current 
and  went  dashing  down  the  rapids,  under  the 
low-rolling  smoke-pall.  For  an  instant  the 


20        THE  GAUNTLET   OF   FIRE 

bear  hesitated,  whimpering  like  a  puppy,  and 
then  plunged  after  him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  bear  was  a  much 
better  swimmer  than  he  had  guessed  himself 
to  be.  After  a  few  moments  of  bewilderment 
in  the  terrific,  corkscrewing  clutch  and  pull 
of  the  current,  he  found  himself  able  to  keep 
his  head  generally  above  water,  and  then  to 
more  or  less  choose  his  course. 

At  first  he  chose  it  badly,  misreading  the 
signs  of  the  water.  After  having  buffeted 
his  breathless  way  through  a  series  of  mad 
"rips,"  he  saw  ahead  of  him,  a  little  to  the 
right,  what  seemed  a  smooth  passage  through 
a  barrier  of  breakers.  Resolutely  he  struggled 
towards  it  as  he  swept  down  the  channel.  He 
gained  it.  His  foot  dragged  bottom.  He 
clawed  frantically  to  check  himself,  but  he 
was  rolled  clean  over,  and  shot  from  the  lip  of 
a  perpendicular  ledge  into  the  churning  cauldron 
below. 

Fortunately  for  him,  the  cauldron  was  deep 
enough  to  break  the  direct  thrust  of  the  tor- 
rent, and  he  was  held  in  a  sort  of  eddy  till  his 
wits  and  his  wind  came  back  to  him.  Then 
he  made  his  escape  at  the  side,  and  was 
swept  on  down  the  raging  current.  But  now 


THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        21 

he  knew  enough  to  avoid  such  spots  of  treacher- 
ous smoothness,  and  to  choose  in  preference 
the  steep,  turbulent,  heavily  surging  channels 
which  indicate  depth  and  a  clear  way. 

The  man,  urged  on  by  his  powerful  paddle, 
was  now  far  ahead,  and  out  of  sight,  but  the 
bear  felt  confidence  in  following  where  he  had 
led  the  way.  Both  shores  of  the  river  were 
now  a  raging  furnace,  a  chaos  of  belching 
black  smoke-bursts  torn  apart  by  sheets  of 
red  and  orange  flame.  Tall  trunks  blazed 
for  a  few  minutes  above  the  tumult,  then 
toppled  and  fell,  the  crash  of  their  fall  un- 
heard in  the  universal  raving.  The  bear  at 
times  felt  his  very  lips  and  nostrils  wither 
in  the  heat,  as  he  lifted  his  dripping  head  and 
snatched  painful  breaths.  But  he  was  no 
longer  despairing,  such  confidence  had  he  in 
the  man's  leadership. 

At  length  the  main  current  of  the  South 
Fork  gathered  itself  into  an  appalling  trough 
and  shot  downward  with  a  thunder  that  even 
made  itself  heard  amid  the  rage  of  the  flames. 
The  bear  struggled  to  gain  the  broken  shallows 
along  shore,  but  he  was  too  late.  The  current 
gripped  him  implacably.  A  moment  more, 
and  he  was  in  the  sluice.  Irresistible  cross- 


22        THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

currents  seized  him,  rolled  him  over,  sucked 
him  under.  Dull  noises  boomed  in  his  ears, 
and  his  lungs  were  near  bursting.  Then  all 
at  once  he  was  thrust  up  into  the  air  again, 
strangling,  and  felt  smooth  rocks  slipping 
by  under  his  feet.  The  next  moment  his 
claws  caught  wood,  and  clung  like  a  vice,  and 
held.  A  second  or  two  more  and  he  was  draw- 
ing himself  clear  of  the  torrent,  and  holding 
with  all  his  force  to  some  logs  which  had  been 
driven  and  jammed  into  the  jaws  of  a  side 
ledge.  Right  before  his  nose,  to  his  amaze- 
ment, was  clinging  the  man,  his  body  under 
water,  in  a  crevice  of  the  rocks,  and  his  head, 
all  but  the  eyes,  swathed  in  the  dripping 
blanket.  The  canoe  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

The  man  looked  at  the  bedraggled  and 
gasping  beast  with  bleared  eyes  of  recognition, 
and  moved  further  along  the  logs  to  make 
room  for  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  pardner!"  he  cried. 
"Make  yourself  right  to  home!  You  an' 
me's  the  sole  survivors  hereabouts,  I  guess!" 

Either  catching  a  faint  sound  of  the  man's 
words,  or  troubled  by  the  man's  eyes  meeting 
his,  the  bear  shrank  back  diffidently.  But, 
when  he  felt  again  the  current  clutching  at 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        23 

his  hindquarters,  he  once  more  came  forward 
and  crouched  low  in  the  backwash  within 
reach  of  the  man's  arm. 

For  the  moment  both  refugees  were  safe. 
They  had  water  enough  to  cover  them,  and 
certain  ridges  of  rock  rising  above  the  surface 
protected  their  faces  from  the  direct  force  of 
the  occasional  devastating  blasts  of  flame 
which  licked  out  across  the  water.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

All  that  day,  and  all  night  (though  when 
day  passed  into  night  they  did  not  know) 
the  man  and  the  beast  lay  thus  side  by  side, 
holding  on  to  life,  while  the  fire  raged  by, 
on  either  side  and  over  them.  Then  it  began 
to  die  down,  leaving  red  stumps  and  trunks 
to  smoke  and  smoulder  up  and  down  the 
shores,  with  here  and  there  a  lonely  spruce 
still  flaring.  The  air  was  now  cool  enough  to 
breathe  without  discomfort;  and  a  desolate 
grey  dawn  looked  down  upon  the  scene  of 
ruin. 

The  man  got  up,  stretched  his  numb  legs, 
squeezed  the  water  from  his  clothes;  and 
now,  so  quickly  do  our  wants  change,  turned 
his  body  to  warm  itself  at  the  nearest  glow. 
The  bear  watched  him  anxiously,  but  ventured 


24        THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

no  nearer.  He  hung  on  to  the  man's  move- 
ments as  a  dog  might  have  done.  He  had 
lost,  for  the  moment,  all  his  initiative. 

There  was  one  thing  that  the  man  now 
saw  clearly :  there  could  be  no  escape  to 
that  fiery  shore  perhaps  for  several  days,  un- 
less a  deluge  of  rain  should  come  to  quench 
the  glowing  moss-beds.  But  between  his 
precarious  refuge  and  the  shore,  a  little  way 
downstream,  he  marked  a  spit  of  sand  and 
gravel,  with  a  few  logs  stranded  upon  it, 
and  a  sparse  growth  of  low  sandplum  and 
osier.  It  lay  so  in  the  path  of  the  driven 
spray  from  the  ledges  that,  though  the  heat 
had  blasted  and  shrivelled  the  bushes,  it  had 
not  been  able  to  burn  them,  or  to  do  more 
then  sear  the  logs  with  eating  flame  along 
their  seams  of  balsam.  To  the  man's  eye 
this  log-strewn  gravel-spit  seemed  to  offer 
a  chance  of  escape  if  only  he  could  reach  it. 
But  between  raced  a  deep  and  turbulent 
current,  which,  strong  swimmer  though  he 
was,  he  feared  would  whirl  him  away  like 
a  straw.  If  only  the  bear  would  try  it  first, 
he  thought !  Though  on  second  thought  he 
realized  that  that  could  tell  him  little  in  any 
case,  the  bear  being  able  to  master  a  tide 


THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        25 

in  which  he  would  go  under  like  a  kitten. 
He  looked  at  the  bear  appealingly,  how- 
ever, and  shouted  above  the  tumult  of  the 
rapids  — 

"Try  it,  pard !  We  can't  hang  out  here 
all  day!" 

The  bear  thought  he  was  being  accused  of 
some  enormity,  and  shrank  nervously  to  the 
lower  edge  of  the  refuge. 

Seeing  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
put  his  fate  to  the  test,  the  man  wasted  no 
more  time.  He  knew  he  should  gain  neither 
strength  nor  resolution  by  waiting.  Care- 
fully keeping  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge  between 
the  two  channels,  he  pushed  his  way  upward 
against  the  divided  and  weakened  current,  in 
order  to  gain  all  the  advantage  possible  for 
his  perilous  venture.  When  he  could  no 
longer  resist  the  thrust  of  the  current,  he 
threw  himself  as  far  out  into  it  as  he  could, 
and  swam  desperately,  hoping  against  hope 
to  gain  enough  to  bring  him  within  reach  of 
the  gravel-spit  before  being  swept  past  it. 
In  the  next  instant,  however,  he  realized  the 
futility  of  his  hope.  In  that  current  he  was 
no  more  than  a  whirled  leaf. 

The    bear,    meanwhile,    had    been    watching 


26       THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

his  movements  eagerly  as  he  worked  his  way 
upstream.  He  had  no  idea  what  the  man- 
oeuvre meant,  but  he  knew  very  well  that 
the  man  could  not  leave  their  refuge  by  that 
route.  When,  however,  he  saw  the  man 
throw  himself  clear  out  into  the  channel, 
heading  toward  shore,  he  felt  himself  being 
deserted.  With  a  whining  cry,  he,  too, 
sprang  out  into  the  torrent.  He  dared  not 
let  the  man  out  of  his  sight,  lest  the  fire 
should  come  again  to  swoop  at  him. 

In  the  grip  of  that  sluicing  flood  he  battled 
magnificently,  holding  his  muzzle  high;  and 
though  he  was  carried  downward  at  frightful 
speed,  he  nevertheless  succeeded  in  making 
some  progress  diagonally.  He  had  just  about 
got  the  measure  of  the  forces  against  him, 
and  shaped  such  a  course  as  would  enable 
him  to  fetch  the  sandspit,  when  the  man, 
to  his  astonishment,  was  swept  down  upon 
him,  and  grabbed  him  by  the  long  fur  of  his 
haunches.  Startled  by  this  unexpected  as- 
sault, he  struck  out  more  energetically  than 
ever.  And  the  man,  swinging  around  behind 
him,  shifted  to  his  lower  flank,  and  hung 
on  inexorably. 

In    his    alarm    the    bear    gained    the    gravel 


THE   GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE        27 

by  a  handsome  margin,  and  scurried  out 
upon  it  like  a  frightened  cat.  But  that 
terrifying  clutch  was  no  longer  on  his  flank. 
As  he  turned  to  see  what  had  happened, 
the  man  stood,  laughing  breathlessly,  at  the 
edge  of  the  gravel,  and  shouting  — 
"Thanks,  pardner  !  You  done  noble  !" 
Much  disconcerted  at  the  laughter,  which 
was  something  quite  beyond  his  compre- 
hension, the  bear  slunk  off  to  the  further 
side  of  the  sandspit,  and  eyed  wistfully  the 
smouldering  shores. 

The  man,  having  regained  his  breath,  now 
proceeded  to  roll  two  of  the  logs  together, 
side  by  side,  in  the  quiet  water  at  the  tail 
of  the  sandspit.  With  the  stringy  roots  of 
the  sandplums  and  the  little  shoots  of  the 
scorched  osiers,  he  lashed  the  two  logs  se- 
curely together,  and  then  again  yet  more 
securely,  till  he  had  a  raft  that  he  thought 
would  hold  together  in  any  rapid  yet  to  be 
encountered.  He  knew  that  he  was  now 
not  half  a  mile  from  the  lake  and  the  open 
barrens;  and  he  knew,  too,  that  all  the 
worst  ledges  and  chutes  of  the  South  Fork 
were  past.  He  had  neither  paddle  nor  pole 
to  guide  his  course,  but  he  pushed  off  confi- 


28       THE  GAUNTLET  OF   FIRE 

dently.  As  he  did  so  he  waved  farewell  to 
his  fellow-refugee. 

"Ye'd  better  sit  tight  now,  pardner!" 
he  shouted.  "Ye're  all  right  where  y'are 
till  the  woods  get  a  mite  cooled  down." 

The  bear,  no  longer  daunted  by  the  menace 
of  the  flames,  but  still  nervous  of  that  mas- 
terful clutch  upon  his  flanks,  appeared  to 
accept  the  advice  as  final.  At  first  he  followed 
the  raft  to  the  edge  of  deep  water,  whining 
irresolutely.  Then  he  sat  down  on  his 
haunches,  and  watched  it  go  ploughing  and 
wallowing  through  the  waves,  with  the  man 
crouched  upon  it,  till  it  vanished  in  a  bend 
of  the  stream. 


The   Keepers  of  the   Nest 

UP  from  the  south,  and  from  the  blue, 
palm-fringed  lagoons,  the  giant  white 
flock  came  beating,  on  wings  that  drove 
them  through  the  heights  of  air  at  something 
like  a  mile  and  a  half  a  minute.  Over  the 
rank,  bright,  mysterious  solitudes  and  gold- 
green  reek  of  the  Everglades  the  shining 
wedge  of  their  flight  cleft  the  air  unswerv- 
ingly. In  the  mighty,  throbbing  rhythm  of 
that  flight,  each  vast  white  wing  flashed 
momently  like  snow  against  the  intense  blue, 
struck  by  the  level  rays  of  a  sun  not  yet  an 
hour  above  the  horizon. 

In  that  high-voyaging  flight  went  fifteen 
swans,  those  huge  white,  clarion-voiced  birds 
so  inaptly  known  as  the  "whistling  swans. " 
They  flew  in  strict  array,  with  usually  four 
in  the  shorter  limb  of  the  wedge,  and  eleven 
in  the  longer  one,  the  wisest  and  most  domi- 
nant of  the  flock,  the  undisputed  leader,  flying 

29 


30    THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE   NEST 

at  the  apex.  The  first  far  summons  of  the 
northern  spring  had  come  to  him  suddenly, 
in  the  blue  and  gold  of  the  Floridian  lagoons, 
and  though  he  knew  that  spring  was  still 
deep  wrapped  in  ice,  howled  over  by  the 
savage  Arctic  winds,  he  had  lingered  but  a 
day  or  two  before  following  the  call.  For  a 
day  or  two  the  flock  had  been  greatly  excited, 
swimming  this  way  and  that,  preening  their 
feathers  nervously,  and  making  the  yellow 
shores  re-echo  with  their  harshly  sonorous 
cries.  It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  tear  them- 
selves away  from  those  milk-warm,  teeming, 
green-azure  tides;  but  at  length,  in  the  cool 
of  the  dawn,  a  flock  of  wild  geese  had  gone 
musically  honking  overhead,  bound  for  Hud- 
son Bay.  This  was  just  the  spur  that  he  was 
needing.  As  if  he  had  merely  been  waiting 
for  these,  his  forerunners,  to  lead  the  way,  he 
sprang  into  the  air,  with  a  long  trumpeting 
call  and  a  mighty  beating  of  wings.  The 
flock  rose  after  him,  in  a  snowy,  tempestuous 
confusion  of  wings  and  cries.  With  much 
jealous  wrangling  the  wedge  formed  itself  as 
it  rose,  pounding  upwards  on  a  long  slant,  till 
at  last,  having  gained  a  cloudy  height,  it 
swept  northward  on  the  trail  of  the  geese. 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST    31 

Not  far  under  five  feet  in  length,  and  with 
an  enormous  wing  area,  these  "whistling 
swans"  were  the  stateliest  birds  that  the 
North  American  continent  could  boast.  The 
whiteness  of  their  plumage,  radiantly  flawless, 
save  for  a  spot  of  yellow  on  each  side  of  the 
face,  was  set  off  in  a  formal  fashion  by  jet- 
black  legs  and  bill.  Their  full-arched  skulls 
betrayed  a  high  degree  of  intelligence,  and 
their  wild  eyes  held  a  sort  of  aloof  defiance. 

Swerving  rapidly  inland,  as  if  to  avoid  the 
Atlantic  coast,  the  swans  swept  toward  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  From  time  to  time,  with 
tremendous  splashings  and  a  noise  as  of  a 
band  of  horns  and  bugles,  they  would  come 
down  from  their  heights  to  rest  and  feed, 
seeking  always,  for  their  halt,  the  loneliest 
of  lakes  or  marshy  pools.  The  weight  of 
their  great  frames,  and  the  fierce  energy 
expended  in  the  terrific  speed  of  their  flight, 
forced  them  to  feed  well  and  often. 

From  the  altitude  at  which  they  journeyed 
the  swans  looked  down  on  all  the  other 
migrant  hosts,  with  the  exception,  perhaps, 
of  the  geese,  who  flew  at  about  the  same  level. 
Above  them,  in  the  intense  blue,  they  saw 
only  a  majestically  wheeling  eagle  now  and 


32    THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE   NEST 

then,  or  the  black,  motionless  wings  of  a 
soaring  vulture,  or  some  high-hawking  falcon 
waiting  to  swoop  upon  her  prey.  But  of 
none  of  these  had  the  swans  any  fear.  The 
harmless  black  vultures  would  not  molest  a 
kitten.  And  neither  the  eagle  nor  the  swift 
gerfalcon,  or  goshawk,  most  bloodthirsty  of 
his  race,  would  lightly  risk  a  buffet  that 
might  hurl  him  reeling  to  the  earth.  The 
swans,  indeed,  gave  small  thought  to  any 
possible  enemies  in  their  aerial  path. 

Yet,  but  for  their  confidence  in  their  own 
power  and  courage,  even  the  giant  white 
swans  might  have  had  misgivings  as  the 
goshawk  came  gliding,  a  beautiful  and  sinister 
form,  above  the  line  of  their  flight.  Flying 
as  they  were  at  a  rate  of  not  much  less  than 
a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  the  measured  beat 
of  their  wings  was  a  visible  manifestation  of 
splendid  and  adequate  effort.  But  the  gos- 
hawk swiftly  overtook  them,  almost  without 
seeming  to  hasten  the  slow  sweep  of  his 
long,  scythe-like  pinions.  Directly  above  the 
leader  his  wings  came  to  a  stop,  and  he  glided 
motionless,  with  the  wind  of  his  speed  hissing 
in  the  stiff-set  feathers,  and  his  fiat,  cruel 
head  reaching  downward  as  if  he  were  about 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE   NEST    33 

to  strike.  The  longer  limb  of  the  wedge 
shortened  a  little,  as  certain  of  the  younger 
birds  at  the  rear  nervously  drew  in  closer  to 
their  fellows.  But  the  leader  and  the  other 
older  birds  paid  no  attention  to  the  menace, 
beyond  turning  upwards,  as  they  flew,  a 
steady  and  watchful  gaze.  A  few  moments 
later,  and  apparently  without  an  effort,  the 
splendid  marauder  sailed  on  ahead.  Two 
minutes  more,  and  he  had  overtaken  the 
journeying  geese.  Pouncing  upon  the  hinder- 
most,  he  gripped  its  outstretched  neck  with 
his  clutching  talons  and  fairly  tore  out  its 
throat.  But  it  was  too  heavy  a  bird  for  him 
to  bear  up,  so,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  tre- 
mendous flapping,  he  let  it  drop.  It  fell, 
sprawlingly,  turning  over  several  times  in 
the  air  before  it  landed  with  a  crash  in  the  top 
of  a  dense  old  cedar.  The  great  hawk,  with 
half -folded  wings,  dropped  after  it  straight  as 
a  stone  and  caught  it  again  securely  in  his 
talons  just  as  it  touched  the  branches.  With 
heavy  flappings  he  guided  it  to  a  perch  where 
he  could  devour  it  in  comfort;  and  the 
swans,  as  they  beat  their  way  above  the 
scene,  stared  down  upon  it  with  eyes  of  grave 
indifference. 


34    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

Soon  passing  beyond  the  zones  of  cane- 
fieid,  pine  barren,  and  cypress  swamp,  they 
crossed  the  harsh  and  forbidding  ridges  of  the 
Tennessee  Mountains,  running  the  gauntlet  of 
the  rifles  of  the  wild  mountaineers.  In  this 
perilous  passage  they  lost  three  of  their  flock; 
but  their  leader  swept  them  on  without  allow- 
ing the  array  to  become  demoralized.  For  a 
few  seconds  only  was  there  some  confusion, 
as  a  strong  bird  near  the  head  of  the  wedge, 
having  got  his  death  wound,  struggled  blindly 
to  keep  on.  A  moment  more,  however,  and 
he  went  plunging  downward;  and  the  line 
closed  up. 

And  now  the  skies  they  traversed  were  no 
longer  of  so  palpitating  a  blue,  but  more  often 
of  a  sullen  grey  or  lowering  with  black  and 
wind-rent  clouds.  Gusts  of  icy  rain  burst 
over  them,  and  those  wanton  storms  which 
strive  to  buffet  back  the  vanguards  of  the 
diffident  northern  spring.  The  rivers  that 
now  rolled  swirling  beneath  them  were  cold 
and  swollen  floods,  heavy  with  silt.  The 
broad  plains  that  stretched  to  the  horizon 
and  beyond  began  to  be  mottled  uncouthly 
with  patches  of  grey  and  shrinking  snow. 
Soon  the  brown  disappeared,  and  all  was  snow, 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST    35 

white  and  interminable,  broken  only  by  the 
blue-black  watercourses  rolling  along  their 
burden  of  logs  and  ice,  or  by  dark  green,  ragged 
belts  of  spruce  forest.  Such  scattered  cities 
as  passed  beneath  them  they  hardly  heeded, 
unless  it  chanced  to  be  at  night,  and  the  city 
one  of  importance.  Then  the  wide-flung 
glare  always  drew  them,  and  there  would  be, 
on  the  part  of  the  younger  birds,  a  tendency 
to  descend  and  investigate;  but  the  leader 
always  checked  this  inexorably,  and  swung 
the  flock  sometimes  to  a  higher  level. 

Voyaging  thus  day  by  day  toward  ever 
more  and  more  inhospitable  lands  and  skies, 
they  came  at  last  to  those  shelterless  and 
incredibly  bleak  expanses  of  the  Barren 
Grounds  which  stretch  along  the  north-west 
shores  of  Hudson  Bay.  In  a  blinding  smother 
of  snow  they  arrived  at  a  small  lake,  a  few 
miles  inland  from  the  sea,  which  had  been  the 
leader's  objective  ever  since  leaving  the  sun- 
drenched Floridian  lagoons.  But  he  had  too 
far  outflown  the  advance  of  the  sluggish  spring, 
and  the  little  lake  was  not  yet  open.  After 
circling  above  it  with  loud,  disappointed  cries, 
they  flew  off  down  the  course  of  the  shallow, 
turbulent  stream  which  came  boiling  from 


36    THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST 

under  the  ice,  and  alighted  amid  the  muddy 
and  wave-eaten  floes  which  fringed  the  shores 
of  the  bay. 

For  nearly  three  weeks  the  flock  held  to- 
gether and  kept  to  the  tide-waters.  Their 
refuge  was  a  narrow  and  shallow  bay,  its 
beaches  piled  with  ice-cakes  which  gave  them 
some  shelter  from  the  tearing  winds.  Here 
food  was  abundant,  so  they  were  well  enough 
off,  though  restless  and  anxious  to  get  about 
their  nesting. 

As  the  wind  was  off  shore,  under  the  lee  of 
the  ridged  ice-cakes  the  water  was  compara- 
tively still.  And  it  was  here  they  slept,  rock- 
ing softly  on  the  backwash.  Here,  for  the 
most  part,  they  were  safe  from  all  enemies. 
But  one  night,  as  they  slept,  shadowy,  pale 
shapes  on  the  dimly-shadowed  water,  there 
came  another  pallid  shape,  moving  noiselessly 
as  a  smoke,  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
paused  among  the  huddled  ice-cakes.  Motion- 
less it  eyed  the  sleeping  swans.  Then,  warily 
withdrawing,  it  entered  the  water  some  fifty 
yards  away,  swam  out  perhaps  another  fifty 
yards,  and  approached  the  sleepers  from  the 
direction  of  the  open  sea,  the  direction  from 
which  they  least  apprehended  attack.  Swim- 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST    37 

ming  so  deep  in  the  water  that  only  a  sharp, 
black  muzzle  appeared  above  the  surface,  the 
prowling  shape  came  suddenly  and  without 
warning  above  the  swans.  Rearing  half  its 
length  above  the  surface,  it  seized  one  of  the 
sleepers  by  the  neck  and  killed  it  with  a  single 
savage  shake. 

Wide  awake  on  the  instant,  the  flock  beat 
up  into  the  air  with  wild  buglings  of  con- 
sternation, as  the  great  white  bear  went 
splashing  shoreward  with  his  prize.  The 
flock  flew  out  to  sea,  mounting  to  a  great 
height,  and  circled  for  nearly  an  hour  in  the 
glimmering  twilight  before  they  could  recover 
their  composure.  Then  they  came  dropping 
back  in  silence,  every  eye  alert,  and  settled 
once  more  upon  the  water  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  from  their  old  sleeping-place.  For 
perhaps  another  half-hour  they  floated  with 
heads  all  erect,  searching  every  ice-cake, 
every  little  lapping  wave-crest.  And  there- 
after, so  long  as  the  flock  remained  together, 
when  they  slept  it  was  always  with  a  sleepless 
sentinel  on  guard. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  later  when  there  came 
a  change  —  a  change  so  sudden  that  all  the 
forces  of  the  cold  were  routed  in  a  night. 


3  8    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

The  spring,  so  long  held  back,  came  with  a 
soft,  delicious  rush.  No  more  shrieking  of 
winds  and  roar  of  waves  along  the  outer  ledges, 
but,  instead,  bland  airs  that  breathed  of  soak- 
ing moss,  and  wide,  still  waters  gleaming 
under  a  desolate  but  tranquil  sky.  Through 
long,  unclouded  days  the  sun  poured  down 
lavishly,  the  snow  fled  like  a  lifting  mist,  and 
the  ice,  collapsing  with  silvery  crash  and 
tinkle,  fell  back  into  the  floods  that  gave  it 
birth.  A  wave  of  green,  high,  thin,  ineffably 
tender,  went  washing  in  a  day  all  across  the 
illimitable  wastes  of  the  muskeg.  Another 
day,  and  the  green  was  starred  with  flowers. 

The  flock  had  scattered  at  once,  flying  off 
in  pairs  to  their  secluded  nesting-places. 
The  leader  and  his  mate  had  no  great  way  to 
go,  for  their  place  was  already  chosen.  For 
several  years  they  had  held  a  tiny  islet  in  the 
near-by  lake,  whose  shores  were  a  morass 
which  gave  them  protection  from  most 
enemies.  Their  nest,  of  course,  was  invariably 
swept  out  of  existence  by  the  winter  hurricanes, 
but  they  had  no  objection  to  the  task  of  nest- 
building. 

The  islet  was  no  more  than  a  handful  of 
moss  and  willow  scrub  caught  in  a  jumble  of 


THE  KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST    39 

uptilted  rock,  and  it  rose  but  a  foot  or  so 
above  the  lake  level.  The  two  swans,  work- 
ing together  —  the  splendid  male  as  diligent 
in  the  task  as  his  mate  —  collected  dead  sticks 
and  brushwood  from  all  around  the  shores  of 
the  lake,  dragging  it  out  with  their  powerful 
bills  from  where  the  storms  had  driven  it  into 
the  tangle  of  the  muskeg.  They  wove  its 
foundations  solidly,  and  reared  it  to  a  height 
of  something  over  two  feet,  that  its  precious 
contents  might  be  safe  from  any  floods. 

Almost  before  the  nest  was  fairly  finished, 
the  female  began  to  lay,  the  ample  cup  of 
ithe  nest  becoming  lined  with  down  as  she 
went  on  laying.  The  eggs  were  big,  obscurely- 
tinted  affairs,  a  good  twelve  inches  in  the 
greater  circumference,  and  with  a  dull,  suede- 
like  surface.  She  laid  the  full  complement  of 
her  kind,  which  is  six,  and  then  began  to  sit. 

In  this  long  and  arduous  labour  the  male 
took  no  part.  But  this  was  not  from  any 
lack  of  sympathy  on  his  part.  He  was  cease- 
lessly on  guard,  and  devoted  in  his  attentions 
to  his  utterly  preoccupied  mate;  and  never 
did  he  allow  his  foraging  expeditions  to  lead 
him  any  distance  from  the  nest.  When  his 
mate  came  off  to  feed,  he  stayed  close  beside 


40    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

the  nest,  watching  over  the  eggs.  And  if  any 
inquisitive  saddleback  or  herring  gull  flew 
over,  peering  down  greedily  at  the  coveted 
spheres  in  the  nest,  he  would  lift  his  wings 
threateningly  and  warn  them  off  with  a  furi- 
ous and  strident  hissing. 

For  a  week  or  two,  however,  this  assiduous 
guardianship  put  no  great  tax  on  anything  but 
his  patience.  There  was  no  serious  danger  in 
sight.  A  pair  of  the  great  white  and  grey 
Arctic  hawk-owls,  almost  as  big  as  eagles  and 
far  more  savage,  were  nesting  off  on  the 
muskeg,  perhaps  half  a  mile  away.  But  these 
fierce  marauders  were  not  interested,  for  the 
present,  in  the  nest  of  the  swans.  They  had 
not  the  gulls'  taste  for  eggs,  and  only  the 
direst  hunger  could  have  driven  them  to  try 
conclusions  with  the  mighty  wings  and  bills 
of  the  keepers  of  the  nest  on  the  islet.  When 
the  young  cygnets  should  come  to  be  hatched 
out,  then  might  they  begin  to  take  an  interest 
in  the  swans'  nest;  but  for  the  present  they 
never  came  near  enough  even  to  elicit  a  warn- 
ing from  the  vigilant  guardian. 

Besides  the  hawk-owls,  out  there  on  the 
muskeg  were  stoats  and  ermine,  a  few  mink, 
plenty  of  the  little  blue  Arctic  foxes,  and  a 


THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST    41 

few  of  the  larger  and  far  more  dangerous  red 
species.  But  none  of  these  could  get  to  the 
nest  except  by  swimming,  and  the  swans 
knew  that  not  one  of  these  prowlers,  unless, 
perhaps,  a  very  daring  red  fox,  would  care  to 
approach  the  islet  as  long  as  either  one  of  its 
keepers  was  by.  There  were  no  wolves  to  fear, 
for  they  not  only  hated  the  half-floating  edges 
of  the  lake,  but  they  had  followed  the  trail  of 
the  wandering  caribou  to  some  far-distant 
ranges.  To  be  sure,  there  was  the  great  grey 
lynx,  seen  picking  his  way  stealthily,  from 
time  to  time,  about  the  drier  portions  of  the 
muskeg,  and  sometimes  stopping  to  glare 
hungrily  across  the  water  at  the  stately  white 
guardian  of  the  nest.  But  the  swans  knew 
that  at  this  time  of  year  —  the  season  of  good 
hunting  —  even  the  lynx  was  not  ravenous 
enough  to  wet  his  well-kept  fur  by  swimming 
out  to  the  islet. 

But  one  day  there  came  gliding  over  the 
muskeg,  pausing  and  lurking  behind  the  low 
bushes,  a  beautiful,  dark-brown,  sinister- 
looking  stranger.  He  was  long  and  low  in 
the  body,  sinuous  as  a  snake,  and  with  a 
cruel,  pointed  head.  He  made  his  way  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  stood  looking 


42    THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST 

steadily  across  at  the  brooding  mother  on  her 
nest. 

The  watchful  sentinel  had  never  before 
seen  a  fisher,  but  he  knew  at  once  that  this 
was  an  enemy,  and  a  dangerous  one.  Spread- 
ing his  vast  wings,  lowering  and  extending  his 
long  neck  on  a  level  with  the  ground,  and 
hissing  like  an  escape-pipe,  he  stalked  around 
till  he  had  put  himself  between  his  mate  and 
those  deadly  eyes.  At  the  edge  of  the  water 
he  stood  poised,  a  splendid,  gleaming,  snowy 
figure ;  and  for  several  seconds  the  two  so 
strangely-matched  antagonists  surveyed  each 
other  across  some  twenty  yards  of  clear  water. 

The  fisher  was  not  just  then  particularly 
hungry,  but  he  was,  as  usual,  in  the  mood  for 
killing.  His  pause  was  not  because  of  any 
hesitation,  but  simply  because  he  had  never 
seen  a  swan  before,  and,  like  the  cunning 
tactician  that  he  was,  he  took  count  of  his 
opponent's  points  before  attacking.  Presently 
he  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  water  and  came 
swimming  at  great  speed  toward  the  islet. 

Ordinarily,  perhaps,  the  swan  would  have 
chosen  to  await  the  attack  on  his  own  thresh- 
old. But  some  swift  insight  warned  him 
now  to  join  battle  in  that  element  where  he 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST    43 

was  most  at  home.  He  launched  himself 
smoothly  as  oil,  and  his  powerful  webs  drove 
him  gliding  over  the  surface,  apparently  with- 
out effort,  at  a  pace  far  beyond  that  of  the 
fisher.  But  he  did  not  sail  direct  to  meet  the 
foe.  Rather  it  looked  to  the  foe  as  if  he  were 
going  to  shun  the  encounter.  He  swept  off 
on  a  curve,  as  if  doubtful  what  to  do  in  such 
an  emergency. 

The  fisher  was  almost  abreast  of  him,  when 
he  swerved  like  lightning,  and,  fairly  lifting 
himself  from  the  water,  hurled  himself  straight 
at  the  swimmer's  head.  The  swimmer  dived; 
but,  taken  by  surprise  as  he  was,  he  was  not 
quick  enough  to  escape  a  bewildering  blow  over 
the  right  eye  from  the  bird's  powerful  bill. 
Blinded  for  the  moment  on  that  side,  he  was 
at  the  same  time  filled  with  a  very  madness  of 
rage.  That  any  mere  thing  in  feathers  should 
dare  to  withstand  him  was  unbelievable.  He 
rose  to  the  surface  again  instantly,  shooting 
half  his  length  out  of  water,  and  snapping 
viciously  with  his  long  white  fangs.  But 
he  rose  into  an  incomprehensible  turmoil  of 
enormous,  battering  wings,  and  lashed  foam, 
and  unheard-of  hissings,  and  blinding,  rigid 
white  feathers;  and  it  was  nothing  but  a  few 


44    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

feathers  that  his  deadly  jaws  succeeded  in 
grasping.  Baffled  and  choking,  he  fell  back 
with  his  mouthful  of  feathers;  and  as  he  dived 
once  more,  with  a  view  to  coming  up  again  at 
some  more  convenient  and  satisfactory  point 
of  attack  —  at,  perhaps,  a  foot  below  the  surface 
—  the  back  of  his  neck  was  clutched  by  a  pair 
of  steel-like  mandibles.  The  swan  had  darted 
his  long,  snaky  neck  under  water,  as  if  to  fish 
for  lily  roots;  and  now,  having  secured  a 
good  grip,  he  was  shaking  his  enemy  as  a 
terrier  would  shake  an  old  shoe.  His  neck 
and  bill  were  excellently  fitted  to  this  employ- 
ment, for  lily  roots  are  tough  and  require  a 
lot  of  energetic  persuasion. 

On  land,  of  course,  those  tactics  would 
have  proved  promptly  fatal  to  the  bird.  The 
fisher,  with  his  lithe  strength  and  swiftness, 
would  have  writhed  about  and  fixed  his 
teeth  in  his  adversary's  throat,  and  the  fight 
would  have  been  over.  But  here,  in  the  water, 
he  could  get  no  leverage  whereon  to  exert  his 
strength.  He  could  do  nothing  but  kick  and 
twist  in  futile  fury.  Moreover,  not  being 
accustomed  to  exerting  himself  under  water, 
he  involuntarily  opened  his  mouth,  and  speed- 
ily felt  himself  choking.  In  fact,  had  the 


THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST    45 

swan  but  understood  the  magnitude  of  his 
present  advantage,  he  might  now  have  drowned 
his  assailant  without  further  trouble,  and  rid 
the  wilderness  of  one  of  its  bloodiest  scourges. 
But  the  indignant  bird,  having  himself  no 
objection  to  keeping  his  head  under  water 
several  minutes  at  a  time,  little  guessed  that 
such  an  experience  might  be  fatal  to  his 
enemy.  He  presently  relaxed  his  terrible 
grip,  and,  backing  off  lightly,  waited  to  greet 
the  foe's  reappearance  at  the  surface  with  a 
fresh  buffeting  of  those  great  wing-elbows  in 
which  he  put  his  faith. 

Ordinarily  speaking,  the  fisher  is  the  last 
to  cry  quits  or  to  lose  heart  under  any  punish- 
ment. But  this  kind  of  punishment  was  some- 
thing so  mysterious,  so  undreamed  of,  that  it 
seemed  for  the  moment  to  change  his  whole 
nature.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  a 
good  submersion  would  cool  the  battle  lust 
even  of  a  rhinoceros.  It  certainly  cooled  the 
fisher's.  Though  his  lungs  were  bursting 
and  his  brain  saw  sparks,  the  moment  he  was 
freed  from  that  grip  on  his  neck,  he  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  remain  yet  a  few  seconds 
more  under  water,  while  he  swam  desperately 
toward  his  own  shore.  When  at  last  he  was 


46    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

forced  to  lift  his  head  above  the  surface,  he 
was  within  a  few  feet  of  the  fringing  bushes. 
But  his  adversary  was  there.  He  was  met,  as 
before,  by  a  stupefying  whirlwind  of  wings  and 
blows  and  terrific  sounds.  Gulping  a  fresh 
lungful  of  the  air  he  was  agonizing  for,  he 
dived  again,  this  time  as  deep  as  he  could, 
escaping  by  a  miracle  a  second  darting  clutch 
of  his  vanquisher's  bill.  Not  till  he  was  actu- 
ally within  the  screening  roots  and  stems  did 
he  come  up  again,  and  then  it  was  to  worm  his 
way  through  them  unseen  till  he  was  a  good 
twenty  paces  or  so  from  the  water's  edge. 
Then  he  slunk  off  without  pausing  to  digest 
the  situation  —  the  most  dispirited  fisher  that 
ever  roamed  the  muskeg.  The  swan,  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  his  flight,  filled  the  solitudes 
with  the  sonorous  trumpetings  of  his  triumph, 
and  swam  proudly  back  to  the  nest. 

As  the  long  five  weeks  of  brooding,  for  the 
patient  mother  on  her  nest,  drew  near  an 
end,  there  came  to  the  Barren  Grounds  a  time 
of  unprecedented  drought.  The  innumerable 
streams  that  drained  the  soaking  muskeg  ran 
shallow  as  they  had  never  run  before  within 
the  memory  of  the  long-lived  swans.  Under 
the  long,  unshadowed  warmth  the  lake  shrank 


THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE   NEST    47 

amazingly;  and  at  last,  to  the  vexation  of  the 
keepers  of  the  nest,  their  islet  ceased  to  be 
perfectly  an  islet.  The  group  of  tilted  strata 
which  formed  it  rose  so  far  out  of  water  that 
a  thin-topped  ledge  was  revealed,  connecting 
them  with  the  shore.  It  was  no  more  than 
a  series  of  widely-separated  and  precarious 
stepping-stones,  awash  in  the  smallest  ripples, 
but  it  was  enough  to  allow  a  sufficiently  nimble 
wanderer  to  visit  the  islet  dry-shod.  The 
swans  eyed  it  with  growing  disquiet. 

At  last  came  the  day  when  the  patient 
brooder  heard  stirrings,  and  tappings,  and 
thin  little  cries  coming  from  the  six  precious 
eggs  beneath  her  breast.  From  time  to  time 
she  would  lower  her  head  among  them  to  lis- 
ten enraptured,  or  to  answer  with  soft  sounds 
of  encouragement  in  her  throat.  Her  mate 
drew  close  to  the  nest,  forgetting  to  eat,  but 
never  forgetting  to  keep  a  fiercely  watchful 
eye  upon  the  ledge  connecting  with  the  shore. 

Soon  one  of  the  baby  cygnets,  having  di- 
vided the  shell  into  two  halves  by  the  ordered 
strokes  of  his  sharp-tipped  bill,  thrust  up  the 
top  portion  as  if  it  had  been  a  lid,  and  sprawled 
forth  all  wet  against  its  mother's  hot  and 
naked  breast.  The  mother  pushed  one  half 


48    THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST 

of  the  shell  within  the  other,  that  they  might 
take  up  less  room,  and  then,  a  little  later, 
threw  them  out  of  the  nest,  lest  they  should 
get  fitted  on  over  the  end  of  another  egg  and 
smother  the  occupant. 

Presently  two  more  eggs  hatched  almost 
simultaneously.  The  ecstatic  mother  was 
now  half  standing  in  the  nest  to  give  the 
damp  sprawlers  room.  It  was  at  this  time 
that  the  old  grey  lynx,  prowling  down  nearer 
to  the  water's  edge  than  was  his  wont,  ob- 
served the  stepping-stones  and  decided  to 
come  over.  He  had  wanted  those  great  white 
birds  for  a  long  time. 

Now,  the  most  powerful  of  swans,  under 
usual  circumstances  and  conditions,  is  no 
match  for  the  lynx,  but  a  helpless  quarry 
merely  for  that  fierce  and  powerful  marauder. 
But  often,  in  defence  of  their  young,  the  wild 
creatures  develop  powers  and  heroisms  un- 
dreamed of  at  other  times.  At  such  a  period 
they  become  utterly  reckless  of  odds;  and 
such  a  temper  may  often  accomplish  the 
impossible.  Moreover,  it  is  one  thing  to  hold 
a  bridge,  and  another  to  fight  in  the  open. 

There  was  no  uncertainty  in  the  minds  of 
the  two  swans  as  to  the  deadliness  of  this  peril. 


THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST    49 

They  knew  all  about  lynxes.  The  mother 
bird  stood  up  among  her  eggs  and  young,  and 
stepped  delicately  from  the  nest,  hissing  and 
beating  her  wings.  Both  birds  knew  better 
than  to  attack  this  foe  by  water  or  by  land. 
With  screams  of  hate  they  rose  laboriously 
into  the  air. 

The  lynx  had  reached  the  second  stepping- 
stone,  a  sharp  and  narrow  one,  and  was  balanc- 
ing himself  with  the  caution  of  a  house  cat 
afraid  of  wetting  her  feet,  before  taking  the 
next  leap.  Just  as  he  gathered  himself  to 
spring,  the  male  swan  struck  him  heavily  on 
the  side  of  the  head,  almost  throwing  him 
from  his  foothold.  His  fore-paws,  indeed, 
and  his  whiskered  muzzle  went  into  the  water, 
but  his  great  hind  claws,  firm  based  for  the 
spring,  maintained  their  hold  on  the  rock. 
Spitting  harshly  in  his  amazement,  he  clawed 
back  to  his  position.  But  in  the  next  instant 
he  was  so  ill-advised  and  over-confident  as  to 
rise  upon  his  hind  legs,  striking  at  his  assail- 
ant in  the  hope  of  bringing  him  down.  At 
the  very  moment  when  his  balance  was  least 
secure,  the  female,  utterly  reckless,  launched 
her  whole  buffeting  weight  against  him. 
Hurling  him  irresistibly  from  the  ledge,  she 


50    THE   KEEPERS  OF  THE  NEST 

fell    with    him    and    upon    him,    driving    him 
deep  into  the  water. 

For  one  bewildering  second  he  clawed  at 
her,  ripping  off  the  strong  white  feathers, 
and  inflicting  cruel  wounds  on  breast  and 
thigh.  But  this  was  for  a  moment  only. 
Daunted  and  choking,  he  loosed  his  grip  in 
haste  and  pawed  his  way  back  to  the  surface. 
As  he  scrambled  out  upon  the  ledge,  both 
birds  were  at  him  again  instantly;  but  he 
had  not  an  ounce  of  fight  left  in  him.  He 
was  not  at  all  hungry,  and  he  did  not  like 
swans,  and  he  wanted  to  get  off  to  some  quiet, 
sunny  place  and  dry  himself.  Spitting  loudly, 
head  hunched  down  between  his  shoulders, 
ears  flat,  and  stub  of  a  tail  pressed  tight  be- 
tween his  furry  buttocks,  he  fled  ignominiously 
through  a  pandemonium  of  wings  and  beaks 
and  screams.  When  he  was  quite  beyond 
their  reach,  the  two  swans  stretched  them- 
selves to  their  full  height,  spread  their  wings 
as  wide  as  possible,  and  trumpeted  a  raucous 
warning  to  all  trespassers.  Then  they  hur- 
ried back  to  the  nest  which  they  knew  so  well 
how  to  guard.  The  female,  apparently  un- 
conscious of  her  wounds,  resumed  eagerly  her 
brooding,  with  soft  murmurs  to  the  hatching 


THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE  NEST    51 

young;  while  the  male,  as  calm  as  if  nothing 
out  of  the  ordinary  had  happened,  or  was 
ever  likely  to  happen,  set  himself  to  preening 
the  ruffled  snow  of  his  plumage. 


In  the  Year  of  no   Rabbits 

IT  was  the   hungry   year  —  for    all  the   flesh- 
eating    kindreds    of     the     northern     wilds 
a     year     of     ceaseless     ambush,     of     strained 
vigilance,      of     unprecedentedly     savage    feud. 
In    this    year    every    truce    was    broken. 

For  it  was  the  year  of  no  rabbits.  As 
happens  once  in  a  while,  mysteriously,  the 
swarming  hordes  of  them  had  vanished  as 
if  wiped  out  by  a  pestilence  or  exiled  in  a 
mass,  inexorably,  by  some  caprice  of  the 
unseen  Powers.  And  so  red  anarchy  in  the 
wild.  For  the  rabbit  is  your  great  reconciler, 
your  great  keeper  of  the  peace.  It  is  he 
that  keeps  life  more  or  less  regulated  for  the 
fiercely  individual  and  ungovernable  hunters 
and  prowlers.  For  to  his  inexhaustible  fertil- 
ity, and  to  the  food  supply  afforded  by  his 
myriads,  are  all  their  lives  attuned.  Their 
wants  satisfied  by  this  facile  chase,  they  can 
afford  to  save  themselves  trouble  by  avoid- 

52 


IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS   53 

ing  each  other  at  times,  by  respecting,  to  a 
certain  extent,  each  other's  ranges,  and  so 
escaping  the  risk  of  dangerous  and  doubtful 
encounters.  Few  of  the  wild  creatures  — • 
with  the  exception  of  certain  males  in  the 
mating  season  —  care  to  fight  for  fighting's 
sake,  or  to  join  battle,  unless  in  defence  of 
their  young,  with  an  antagonist  of  anything 
like  equal  powers.  A  victory  too  costly  is 
almost  as  bad  for  them  as  a  defeat,  for  it 
leaves  them  weakened,  so  that  they  fall  a 
prey  to  the  next  foe  that  chances  along. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  not  strange 
that  there  should  be  signs,  among  the  greater 
beasts,  of  something  like  a  truce  where  their 
helpless  young  are  concerned.  It  is  no  matter 
of  good  will,  by  any  means,  but  of  common 
prudence  merely.  For  when  their  young  are 
threatened,  even  the  weak  are  dangerous,  and 
the  strong  become  implacable  in  their  ven- 
geance. In  general,  therefore,  among  equals, 
the  raiding  of  nurseries  is  not  regarded  as  good 
hunting;  the  peril  is  too  great  for  the  profit. 

But  when  the  rabbits  were  gone,  all  that 
was  changed.  Then  any  hunting  was  good 
hunting. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  that   little,  palpitating, 


54   IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

bulging-eyed  bunny  could  exert  so  vast  an 
influence  on  the  economy  of  the  wilderness. 
But  there  was  none  so  strong  or  so  haughty 
as  to  rest  indifferent  to  his  going.  Even 
man  himself  was  touched;  for  the  foxes  and 
the  wild-cats  drew  in  about  the  settlements 
and  harried  the  hen-roosts  and  the  pastures  of 
the  outlying  farms.  The  great  herb-eaters  — 
the  red  deer,  the  caribou,  and  the  gigantic 
moose  himself  —  were  not  exempt  from  the 
sudden  anarchy;  for  the  moose  and  the  cari- 
bou had  to  guard  their  young  with  a  vigilance 
hitherto  undreamed  of,  and  the  weaker  deer 
soon  discovered  that  enemies  whom  he  had 
been  wont  to  despise  had  all  at  once  grown 
formidable. 

Of  all  the  wilderness  dwellers,  the  bears, 
perhaps,  were  least  affected.  They  had  never 
taken  more  than  a  chance  interest  in  quarry 
so  elusive  as  the  nimble  rabbit,  and  flesh 
food  was  never  essential  to  them  so  long  as 
roots  and  fruits  and  fungi,  grubs  and  beetles, 
ants  and  honey,  were  to  be  found  in  the  forest. 
And  when  the  craving  for  flesh  was  not  to  be 
denied,  it  was  big  game  they  hunted  —  deer,  or 
sheep,  or  some  strayed  heifer.  But,  for  all 
their  independence,  the  bears  were  forced  to 


IN   THE   YEAR  OF   NO   RABBITS   55 

take  account  of  the  departure  of  Master  Rabbit. 
They  grew  afraid  to  go  far  from  their  dens, 
lest  in  their  absence  some  greatly  daring  lynx 
or  fox  or  fisher  should  slip  in  and  kill  their 
cubs. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  lynxes,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  suffered  most.  They  and  the 
weasels  were  the  most  assiduous  hunters  of 
the  rabbit,  and  they  lacked  the  weasels' 
adaptability.  They  are  set  in  their  ways, 
the  lynxes;  and  though  more  savage  and 
vastly  more  formidable  than  their  smaller 
cousins,  the  wild-cats,  they  are  at  the  same 
time  far  shyer  of  man  and  all  his  works.  In- 
stead of  following  the  foxes  and  wild-cats  into 
the  fringes  of  the  settlements,  they  stayed 
where  they  were,  and  went  hungry  or  hunted 
dangerous  game. 

Near  the  top  of  a  steep  and  rocky  knoll, 
at  the  heart  of  a  cedar  swamp,  a  wise  old 
mother  lynx  had  her  lair.  The  knoll  was  an 
upthrust  of  broken  strata,  a  tangle  of  cleft 
rocks  and  stunted  birch  and  hemlock,  and 
in  a  narrow-mouthed  cave,  near  the  summit, 
was  the  lair.  Here  the  savage  mother  felt 
that  her  litter  was  pretty  well  hidden.  All 
approaches  to  the  den  were  narrow  and  diffi- 


5 6  IN  THE  YEAR  OF   NO  RABBITS 

cult,  and  it  would  be  a  bold  enemy  indeed  who 
would  dare  the  perilous  entrance  unless  very 
sure  of  getting  clear  away  before  the  mother's 
return.  She  ventured,  therefore,  as  few 
mothers  in  that  calamitous  season  could  ven- 
ture, to  allow  herself  some  freedom  of  range. 
And  this  was  well.  For  they  were  lusty  and 
hungry  youngsters,  those  striped,  velvety 
kittens,  whose  baby  whimperings  had  already 
something  harsh  and  fierce  in  them,  though 
they  still  sprawled  blindly  in  their  nest ;  and  to 
keep  her  breasts  supplied  with  milk  for  their 
precious  demands  she  had  to  have  good 
hunting. 

Unlike  some  more  fortunate  mothers  of  the 
wild,  she  had  to  care  for  her  family  alone. 
To  her  ferocious  mate  she  dared  not  let  their 
hiding-place  be  known,  lest,  in  some  unnatural 
moment,  he  should  make  a  meal  of  them. 
Ordinarily,  except  in  mating  season,  they  saw 
little  of  each  other,  this  wild  and  sullen  pair. 
But  in  this  season  of  scarcity  they  often  met 
for  the  purpose  of  hunting  down  together  some 
game  too  powerful  for  either  to  manage  alone. 
Together,  if  fortune  favoured  them,  they  would 
perhaps  pull  down  a  buck.  When  they  had 
feasted  full,  and  dragged  the  carcase  into  a 


IN  THE   YEAR  OF  NO   RABBITS   57 

thicket  for  safer  hiding,  the  female  would 
start  back  in  anxious  haste  for  her  den.  The 
male  would  make  as  if  to  follow  her;  but  she 
would  turn  upon  him  in  such  a  blaze  ot  fury 
that  he  would  jump  back,  sit  up  on  his  great 
haunches,  lick  his  blood-stained  chaps,  and 
gaze  at  her  with  an  innocence  as  demure  as  of 
any  tabby  that  ever  made  away  with  the 
canary.  The  prudent  mother  was  not  to  be 
deceived.  Staring  back  over  her  shadowy 
grey  shoulder,  she  would  growl  and  spit  and 
snarl  till  she  was  quite  out  of  sight  of  that 
dangerous  figure,  then  she  would  wheel  in  her 
tracks  and  flash  off  in  quite  another  direction. 
And  her  mate  had  far  too  much  respect  for  his 
hide  to  attempt  to  follow  her. 

One  day,  as  she  came  racing  back  home 
from  one  of  these  expeditions  —  now  gliding 
like  a  flicker  of  light,  now  bounding  in  great, 
noiseless  leaps  —  a  sudden  foreboding  smote 
her.  She  had  been  away,  perhaps,  a  little 
longer  than  usual.  Lengthening  herself  out, 
she  shot  forward  and  in  among  the  huddled 
rocks.  As  she  arrived,  a  whiff  of  pungent 
scent  smote  her  nostrils.  She  saw  a  streak 
of  ruddy-yellow  fur  disappearing  under  a 
bush.  With  one  lightning  spring,  she  came 


58   IN  THE   YEAR  OF   NO  RABBITS 

down  upon  that  bush.  But  there  was  nothing 
there.  She  saw  a  large  fox  just  whisking 
around  the  next  boulder.  For  one  agonized 
moment  she  hesitated,  raging  to  pursue 
and  rip  him  to  shreds  with  her  terrific  claws. 
But  the  mother  pull  was  too  strong.  She 
raced  on  up  to  the  den  and  darted  in  with  an 
anxious  whimper  of  inquiry. 

Her  kittens  were  all  there,  undisturbed, 
and  noiselessly  nosing  for  her  teats,  as  they 
felt  her  and  smelt  her  bending  over  them. 
But  she  had  no  time  just  then  to  gratify  their 
wants.  She  was  too  much  concerned  about 
their  enemies.  Giving  them  a  hurried  lick  of 
reassurance,  to  their  squalling  indignation 
she  left  them  abruptly. 

Sniffing  carefully  outside,  she  quickly  satis- 
fied herself  that  the  fox  had  only  come  to 
within  some  ten  feet  or  so  of  the  entrance; 
but  that  was  more  than  enough  for  her 
mother  fears.  The  enemy  had  been  recon- 
noitring, and  he  had  found  the  hiding-place 
of  her  treasures.  He  was  an  enemy  whom  she 
dreaded,  because  of  his  cunning,  so  much 
superior  to  her  own.  Beside  herself  with  rage 
and  fear,  she  searched  every  nook  and  crevice 
of  the  knoll.  But,  of  course,  she  found  noth- 


IN  THE    YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS   59 

ing  of  him  except  the  musky  smell  which  he 
had  left  behind  him  so  liberally. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  however,  at  the 
foot  of  the  knoll,  almost  directly  beneath 
the  lair  itself,  she  found  another  intruder. 
Nosing  for  roots  in  the  rich  earth  between 
the  rocks  was  a  black  bear.  His  presence 
there  was  quite  innocent;  his  thoughts  were 
far  from  young  lynxes.  But  to  the  eyes  of 
the  anxious  mother  he  was  sniffing  his  way 
to  the  hiding-place  of  her  little  ones. 

Now,  the  most  powerful  of  lynxes,  of 
course,  is  no  match  for  a  bear.  But  a  mother's 
a  mother,  and  that  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  world.  The  bear  was  attentively  turn- 
ing over  the  moss  and  sod,  unmindful  of 
danger,  when  a  cyclone  of  claws  and  teeth 
and  screeches  fell  upon  his  neck.  Taken  so 
completely  by  surprise,  he  fairly  bleated,  and 
gave  futile  clutches  over  the  shoulder  with 
his  massive  paws,  which  would  have .  made 
short  work  of  his  audacious  assailant  could 
they  have  fairly  reached  her.  But  they 
touched  nothing  save  a  little  elusive  fur; 
and  the  next  moment,  seized  with  panic,  he 
wheeled  and  fled  wildly  through  the  cedars. 
The  lynx  clung  to  him,  biting  and  clawing 


60  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

till  a  low  branch  swept  her  off.  Whereupon, 
after  pausing  to  free  her  teeth  from  the  long 
black  hairs  which  they  had  been  so  diligently 
collecting,  she  sped  back  to  the  den  with  her 
feelings  somewhat  relieved.  The  bear  ran 
on,  his  panic  gradually  giving  way  to  indig- 
nation, till  at  last  the  latter  conquered.  Then 
he  turned  and  began  slowly  retracing  his 
steps.  He  would  find  his  insolent  assailant 
and  do  her  up.  But  when  he  reached  the 
knoll,  he  changed  his  mind  once  more.  After 
all,  was  it  worth  while  going  out  of  his  way 
to  find  her?  She  seemed  to  be  so  elusive. 
He  passed  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
knoll,  and  let  off  his  resentment  in  rending 
to  pieces  an  old  ant-log. 

To  the  bear,  though  so  ignominiously 
routed  by  his  small  antagonist,  the  affair  was 
of  no  great  moment.  His  hurts  were  not 
deep,  and  they  soon  were  forgotten.  But 
to  the  mother  lynx  it  was  different.  Her 
security  was  gone.  She  felt  that  both  the 
fox  and  the  bear  were  after  her  little  ones. 
She  no  longer  dared  to  hunt  at  any  distance 
from  home;  and  near  home,  thanks  to  her 
own  reputation,  it  was  bad  hunting.  All  she 
could  do  was  to  lie  in  wait,  with  infinite 


IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS  61 

patience,  for  chickadees  and  wood-mice; 
while  her  hunger  grew,  and  the  supply  of 
precious  milk  in  her  breasts  began  to  diminish, 
and  the  little  ones,  whose  eyes  were  now  just 
opening,  became  more  and  more  insistent  in 
their  demands. 

About  three  days  after  the  episodes  of  the 
fox  and  the  bear,  there  came  to  the  knoll  an 
immense  cow  moose,  seeking,  as  the  lynx  had 
done,  solitude  and  security.  To  the  other 
side  of  the  knoll  she  came,  and  had  no  sus- 
picions of  the  presence  of  the  lynx,  who 
glared  down  upon  her  unseen  from  a  bush- 
screened  crevice  near  the  summit.  She  was 
black  and  grim  and  very  formidable-looking, 
the  great  moose,  and  could  well  have  smashed 
the  life  out  of  the  giant  cat  with  one  stroke 
of  her  splayed  fore-hoof.  So  the  lynx  had 
no  notion  of  interfering  with  her.  But  she 
was  interested  in  the  errand  which  had  brought 
the  dark  tree-eater  to  this  retreat,  and  she 
licked  hopefully  her  whiskered  jaws. 

About  daybreak,  on  the  soft  moss  at  the 
foot  of  the  rock,  the  moose  gave  birth  to 
a  long-legged,  shuddering  calf.  Forgetful  at 
once  of  all  her  suffering,  she  licked  the  new- 
comer long  and  lovingly,  till  its  soft  coat  was 


62  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

dry  and  glossy  dark;  and  at  last,  along  in 
the  warm  of  the  day,  it  staggered  feebly  to 
its  feet  and  made  its  first  effort  to  nurse. 
It  was  grotesquely  gaunt,  and  lank,  and 
big-headed,  and  loose-jointed,  and  its  sprawling 
legs  were  too  weak  to  long  support  its  weight. 
In  two  or  three  minutes  it  sank  down  again 
upon  the  moss,  where  it  lay  staring  around 
with  mild,  incurious  eyes,  while  its  mother 
gazed  upon  it  in  a  tender  ecstasy.  To  her  it 
was  the  one  thing  of  beauty  that  the  whole 
green  forest  held. 

Suddenly  a  faint  sound,  other  than  that  of 
rustling  leaf  and  twig,  caught  her  vigilant 
ear.  She  turned  her  head  sharply.  There 
among  the  cedar  trunks,  not  a  hundred  feet 
away,  was  the  bear,  turning  over  and  munch- 
ing a  cluster  of  bright  yellow  fungi.  A  bear  ! 
That  was  the  most  to  be  dreaded  of  all  possi- 
ble enemies.  With  a  harsh  cry,  a  sort  of 
coughing  bellow,  she  rushed  at  him. 

At  sight  of  this  black  whirlwind  sweeping 
down  upon  him,  the  bear  was  surprised  and 
pained.  He  was  not  a  very  big  bear,  and  she 
was  a  very  big  moose.  If  capable  of  reflec- 
tion —  a  point  on  which  doctors  differ  with 
some  acrimony  —  he  perhaps  reflected  that  the 


IN  THE   YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS  63 

knoll  was  not  a  lucky  neighbourhood  for  him  — 
too  many  mothers  and  hardly  enough  mush- 
rooms. In  any  case,  he  decided  to  go  away  at 
once.  And  he  acted  with  such  alertness 
upon  this  wise  decision  that  he  managed  to 
keep  a  certain  distance  between  his  hind- 
quarters and  those  furiously-pounding  hoofs. 
He  felt  that  he  had  reason  to  congratulate 
himself. 

The  lynx  had  been  watching  from  her  high 
crevice  when  the  moose  made  her  mad  charge 
upon  the  bear.  Her  pale,  round  eyes  flamed. 
Soundlessly  she  dropped  from  her  ambush. 
There  was  no  cry  from  the  feeble  victim. 
The  lynx  was  too  expert  and  too  wary  a 
hunter  for  that;  she  wanted  no  struggle  that 
would  attract  the  mother's  attention  from  the 
pursuit  of  the  bear.  So  the  unfortunate  calf, 
who  had  only  just  opened  his  eyes  upon  life, 
went  out  of  it  without  knowing  what  had 
happened  to  him.  Without  an  instant's 
delay,  the  lynx  began  dragging  the  limp  but 
still  quivering  prey  up  the  rock.  Her  only 
chance  was  to  get  it  speedily  beyond  the 
mother's  reach. 

The  lynx  was  marvellously  strong  for  a 
beast  of  her  weight,  which  was  not  more  than 


64  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

forty  odd  pounds,  and  she  was  desperate  with 
determination.  She  knew  that  this  prize 
would  keep  her  from  the  necessity  of  leaving 
the  den  till  her  little  ones  should  be  past  their 
first  helplessness.  Nothing  should  be  allowed 
to  snatch  it  from  her.  But,  for  all  her  furi- 
ous efforts,  so  unmanageable  was  that  limp 
form,  with  its  long,  sprawling  legs,  that  her 
progress  up  the  broken  steep  was  dangerously 
slow. 

Suddenly  the  moose,  realizing  that  she 
could  not  catch  the  bear,  stopped  with  a 
wrathful  snort.  Ploughing  up  the  dank  moss 
with  her  great  outthrust  fore-feet,  she  wheeled 
about  to  return  to  her  calf.  She  started  back 
at  a  shambling  trot,  suspecting  no  evil,  and 
satisfied  with  herself  for  having  so  well  routed 
the  enemy.  Then  she  marked  that  the  little 
one  was  no  longer  in  his  place.  She  gave 
one  mighty  leap  forward,  her  wild  eyes  sweep- 
ing the  whole  base  of  the  rock,  and  then, 
looking  upwards,  she  saw  what  had  befallen. 

As  that  black  bulk  of  vengeance  came  thun- 
dering towards  her,  the  lynx  strained  desper- 
ately to  lift  her  prize  beyond  its  reach.  The 
steep  at  this  point  was  too  abrupt  for  any 
moose  to  climb,  but  the  frantic  mother  hurled 


IN   THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS   65 

herself  up  it  so  far  that  her  outstretched  hoofs 
struck  the  rock  on  either  side  of  the  calf's 
hind-quarters.  Daunted  for  the  instant,  the 
lynx  let  go  her  hold  and  shrank  away  with 
a  snarl.  But  seeing  how  far  short  her 
assailant  had  fallen,  she  sprang  forward  again 
and  sank  her  teeth  into  the  victim's  throat 
with  confident  defiance. 

From  that  wild  leap  the  mother  had  fallen 
back  violently  upon  her  haunches.  Uncon- 
scious of  the  shock,  she  drew  back  a  few  steps 
and  rushed  again  to  the  attack.  This  time 
she  came  on  less  wildly,  and  the  lynx,  glaring 
down  upon  her  over  the  shoulder  of  the  prey, 
had  no  misgivings.  But  in  reality  it  was  now 
that  the  wise  old  moose  was  most  dangerous. 
Having  come  triumphant  through  many  sea- 
sons, many  vicissitudes,  she  knew  how  to 
handle  her  powers  to  best  advantage,  and  in 
that  first  leap  she  had  seen  that  her  little  one 
was  finished  past  all  helping.  Revenge  was 
all  that  she  could  strive  for.  As  she  charged 
again,  she  gathered  her  gaunt  legs  beneath 
her  at  the  last  of  it,  and  launched  herself  up- 
wards with  a  finely  calculated  effort.  Thor- 
oughly deceived,  the  lynx  clung  obstinately 
to  her  hold,  with  ears  flattening  back  in  angry 


66  IN  THE   YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

scorn.  But  this  time  she  had  seriously  mis- 
calculated. In  the  next  second  one  of  those 
huge,  battering  fore-hoofs  smote  down  upon 
her.  It  crushed  her  head  right  back  between 
her  shoulders,  and  her  tense  body,  suddenly 
relaxed,  slumped  forward  upon  the  neck  of 
her  victim. 

Falling  back  as  before,  because  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  gain  any  foothold  on  that 
steep,  the  moose  charged  once  more  and 
repeated  her  wonderful  leap.  This  time  her 
stroke  brought  both  the  bodies  tumbling 
over  each  other  to  the  ground.  The  victor, 
now  sober  and  deliberate  in  her  fury,  pawed 
them  carefully  apart  and  proceeded  to  stamp 
the  carcase  of  the  lynx  into  the  earth.  When 
this  was  accomplished  to  her  satisfaction,  she 
went  and  nosed  her  little  one  tenderly  for 
several  minutes,  muttering  thickly  in  her 
shaggy  throat.  Then,  with  drooping  head, 
she  stood  over  it  motionless  for  hours,  till  the 
last  of  the  sunset  had  faded  out,  and  all  the 
forest  was  in  blackness.  At  last  the  moon  got 
up  white  above  the  tree-tops,  and  ran  pale 
fingers  down  the  face  of  the  rock  till  they  un- 
covered the  grim  scene  at  its  base.  The 
moose,  as  if  suddenly  pulling  herself  together 


IN  THE   YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS   67 

to  accept  the  inevitable,  lifted  her  great  black 
head,  sniffed  the  night  air  with  wide  nostrils, 
and  made  off  noiselessly  through  the  cedars. 

An  hour  or  two  later  the  bear  came  cau- 
tiously prowling  up.  Unseen  himself,  he  had 
seen  his  late  enemy  go  stalking  by  with  an  air 
of  no  more  concern  in  that  part  of  the  forest. 
Much  puzzled,  he  had  come  to  seek  a  solution 
of  the  mystery.  He  found  the  solution  entire- 
ly to  his  taste.  He  grunted  contemptuously 
over  the  pounded  remnants  of  the  lynx,  and 
then,  well  able  to  appreciate  such  a  dainty, 
made  a  hearty  meal  of  young  moose  meat. 
He  sat  down  on  his  haunches  and  grumbled 
happily  over  his  repast,  perhaps  thinking  how 
favoured  were  the  bears  over  all  the  other 
dwellers  of  the  wilderness.  It  would  have 
been  a  sound  and  true  reflection,  could  he  but 
have  made  it,  and  no  more  than  the  due  of  the 
Power  which  had  been  so  generous  to  his  kind. 

Meanwhile,  the  baby  lynxes,  in  their  den, 
now  hungry  past  all  caution  and  mewing 
harshly,  might  have  been  left  to  a  lingering 
and  piteous  death.  But  Nature  is  seldom 
so  cruel.  Stealing  through  the  black  shadows, 
and  darting  across  the  patches  of  moonlight, 
came  the  fox,  anxious  to  see  if  anything  new 


68  IN  THE   YEAR  OF   NO  RABBITS 

had  happened  at  the  knoll.  Peering  from  a 
thicket,  he  marked  the  bear  at  his  feast,  and 
soon  made  out  to  understand.  Stealing  about 
to  explore  the  knoll,  he  presently  caught  the 
cries  of  the  kittens.  This  was  a  phenomenon 
not  hard  for  him  to  interpret.  After  a  pru- 
dent investigation,  he  crept  into  the  den. 
There  was  some  spitting,  feeble  but  courage- 
ous, and  then  the  cries  of  loneliness  and  hunger 
stopped.  The  fox  was  too  businesslike  to 
play  with  and  torment  his  victims,  as  one  of 
the  cat  family  would  do,  but  killed  them  at 
once  and  made  haste  to  carry  them  off  to  his 
den.  Though  not  without  a  healthy  edge  to 
his  own  appetite,  he  thought  first  of  his  mate 
and  cubs,  to  whom  he  was  untiringly  devoted. 

The  knoll  being  now  no  longer  occupied 
by  the  terrible  lynx  mother,  the  lesser  folk 
of  the  forest  began  cautiously  to  revisit  it, 
though  they  made  no  long  stay  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood, because  they  never  knew  when  the 
den  at  the  summit  might  attract  some  danger- 
ous occupant.  Before  long  the  bones  of  those 
two  bodies  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  were  polished 
clean  and  white,  and  then  the  place  fell  de- 
serted except  for  the  chickadees  and  the  wood- 
peckers. 


IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS   69 

As  the  summer  drew  to  a  close,  and  the 
first  glimmers  of  autumn  scarlet  began  to 
tip  the  maples,  scattering  here  and  there 
across  the  wilderness  reappeared  a  few  rab- 
bits. Their  enemies  being  now  less  numer- 
ous, they  multiplied  with  amazing  rapidity, 
as  if  thinking  they  had  the  earth  to  replenish; 
and  soon  again  tall  ears  and  bulging  eyes  were 
flickering  through  the  coverts,  sensitive,  cleft 
nostrils  questioning  every  air,  and  fluffy 
white  tails  bobbing  up  out  of  the  gold-brown 
fern  beds.  The  rabbits  did  not  love  the  cedar 
swamp,  with  its  wet  moss  and  black,  half- 
hidden  pools,  but  a  few  of  their  more  adven- 
turous spirits  roamed  everywhere. 

One  fresh  October  morning,  when  the  birch 
trees  were  all  gold  among  the  grey  rocks  of  the 
knoll,  a  roving  buck  rabbit  came  to  the  foot 
of  it  and  stumbled  upon  that  bunch  of  white 
bones.  At  first  he  was  much  frightened,  and 
with  two  prodigious  leaps  took  hiding  in  the 
nearest  thicket.  But  the  bones  made  no  hostile 
move  whatever,  and  presently  he  felt  some- 
what reassured.  After  he  had  stared  at 
them  for  some  time,  he  concluded  that  they 
were  harmless.  With  uncomprehending  curi- 
osity he  hopped  all  around  them,  and  then 


70  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  NO  RABBITS 

sat  up  beside  them  on  his  haunches,  his  long 
ears  erect  in  foolish  inquiry.  The  last  thing 
he  could  guess  was  that  he  and  his  kind  were 
responsible  for  that  pile  of  bleaching  bones. 


The    Invaders 

THE  lake  was  set  in  the  high  barrens. 
Its  wide  surface,  as  smooth  as  glass 
under  the  unobstructed  sunset,  was  of  an 
intense  yet  faintly  smoky  orange,  shading 
into  green  in  the  deep,  reflected  zenith.  Its 
far-off,  western  shore-line,  fringed  with  a  low 
growth  of  firs,  was  toothed  and  black  against 
the  sky.  The  eastern  shore,  but  vaguely  to 
be  marked  in  the  lone,  pervasive  glow,  was 
flat,  and  naked  except  for  a  thicket  of  willow 
and  poplar  about  the  mouth  of  an  inflowing 
stream.  The  flooding,  tranquil  colour,  the 
low  remoteness  of  the  encircling  horizon  rim, 
the  apparent  convexity  of  the  lake  surface, 
which  seemed  to  bosom  upwards  toward  the 
impending  dome  of  air,  agreed  together  in  an 
unutterable  beauty  of  desolation. 

Presently    a    black    speck  —  no,    two    black 
specks  —  appeared     upon     the     sheen     of     the 

71 


72  THE   INVADERS 

perfect  mirror,  detaching  themselves  from 
the  dark  edge  of  the  western  shore.  Pushing 
out  swiftly  across  the  radiance,  side  by  side, 
they  broke  it  with  long,  smooth,  diverging 
ripples,  which  gleamed  changefully  behind 
them  as  they  drew  their  trail  straight  out 
toward  the  centre  of  the  lake.  Under  the 
lonely  glow  the  black  specks  revealed  them- 
selves as  the  heads  of  two  swimming  moose, 
a  cow  and  a  bull. 

They  swam  completely  submerged  except 
for  their  dark,  uncouth  but  splendid  heads, 
their  long,  prehensile  muzzles  outstretched 
and  cleaving  the  surface.  The  huge  antlers 
of  the  bull,  massive  and  broadly  palmated, 
lay  back  flat  on  the  surface  behind  him, 
above  the  turmoil  of  his  unseen,  powerfully 
labouring  shoulders.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
pair  there  was  a  questioning  fear,  a  certain 
wildness  as  of  panic.  It  was  a  strange  look 
for  these  tall  lords  of  the  wilderness  to  be 
wearing  at  this  time  of  year,  when  the  gigantic 
bulls  front  all  creation  arrogantly  in  their  lust 
of  battle.  But  the  one  terror  that  could 
daunt  them  had  come  upon  them  suddenly  — 
the  terror  of  the  unknown. 

The    pair    had    been    on    the    open    strip    of 


THE  INVADERS  73 

beach  between  the  fir  forest  wherein  they 
roamed  and  the  waterside  where  they  were 
accustomed  to  wallow  and  pull  lily  roots, 
when  the  terror  came  upon  them  in  full 
force,  and  drove  them  out  across  the  orange 
mirror  of  the  lake  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
barrens  of  the  further  shore.  And  neither 
knew  what  it  was  that  they  were  fleeing  from. 
For  several  days  the  cow  had  been  uneasy, 
the  bull  angry  and  suspicious.  The  sense  of 
some  vague,  uncomprehended  peril,  approach- 
ing but  still  impalpable,  was  in  the  air.  From 
the  wonder  and  fear  and  amazement  of  other 
and  feebler  kindreds  of  the  wild,  it  had  come 
by  some  obscure  telepathy  to  trouble  the 
nerves  of  the  great,  imperturbable  moose. 

But  in  the  chill  glory  of  this  October 
sunset  the  mystery  had  come  nearer  —  had 
grown  more  tangible  without  becoming  any 
the  less  a  mystery.  As  the  cow  stood  alone 
by  the  waterside,  calling  her  mate,  she  had 
felt  oppressed  with  a  dim  apprehension  that 
something  other  than  her  mate  might  come 
in  response  to  the  uncouth  passion  of  her 
appeal.  And  her  mate  had  come  suddenly, 
watchfully,  noiselessly,  as  if  in  half  expecta- 
tion of  being  intercepted  or  ambushed.  His 


74  THE   INVADERS 

tall,  black  shape  was  at  her  side,  like  a  shadow, 
while  her  first  calls  were  yet  hoarsely  thrilling 
the  stillness. 

Even  as  they  stood  conferring  with  sensi- 
tive, intimate  muzzles,  a  red  buck  had  gone 
leaping  by,  manifestly  terrified,  yet  with 
an  air  of  irresolution  curiously  unlike  the 
usual  whole-heartedness  of  his  flight.  Their 
ardour  was  chilled  for  a  moment  by  the 
impression  of  his  inexplicable  fear,  and  they 
stared  after  him  apprehensively,  as  if  the 
familiar  sight  of  a  running  buck  had  suddenly 
become  a  portent. 

The  strange  terror  of  the  buck  was  hardly 
more  than  well  forgotten  when  a  fox 
emerged  hastily  from  the  bushes.  Seeing 
the  pair  of  moose  absorbed  in  each  other, 
and  standing  there  black  and  conspicuous  by 
the  waterside,  careless  of  what  eyes  might 
mark  them,  he  came  stepping  delicately  down 
the  beach  and  seated  himself  on  his  haunches 
not  a  dozen  feet  away.  His  shrewd  eyes 
scanned  them  with  intense  inquiry,  as 
if  wondering  if  their  careless  confidence 
represented  a  strength  under  which  he  might 
shelter  himself.  At  other  times  the  lordly 
pair  of  lovers  would  have  resented  his  in- 


THE   INVADERS  75 

trusion  and  driven  him  off;  but  to-day  they 
simply  stared  at  him  with  anxious  inquiry. 
The  look  in  their  eyes  seemed  to  satisfy  the 
fox  that  there  was  no  help  here  to  be  relied 
upon.  He  glanced  uneasily  over  his  shoulder 
toward  the  dark  fringes  of  fir  whence  he  had 
come,  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  stepped  past 
them  superciliously,  and  went  trotting  on 
down  the  edge  of  the  lake.  Their  keen  eyes, 
following  him  closely,  saw  him  lengthen  out 
into  the  gallop  of  desperate  flight  the 
moment  he  reached  the  cover  of  an  osier 
thicket.  The  sight  of  that  sudden  despera- 
tion, in  a  beast  so  wise  as  the  fox,  unnerved 
them  in  spite  of  themselves.  They  had  seen 
many  foxes,  but  never  before  a  fox  who  acted 
so  peculiarly.  What  had  he  wanted  of  them? 
Why  had  he  so  searchingly  looked  them  over? 
And  then  why  had  he  fled?  They  shivered, 
drew  closer  together,  wheeled  their  dark 
bulks  about  till  their  sterns  were  toward  the 
shining  water,  and  stared  intensely  into 
the  dense  mass  of  the  forest  where  the 
fox  had  gazed  so  curiously.  Those  sombre 
masses  of  spruce  and  fir  were  their  home, 
their  secure  and  familiar  covert,  but  now 
they  questioned  them,  distrusted  them.  What 


76  THE   INVADERS 

treachery    could    the    silent    shades   be   prepar- 
ing? 

The  eyes  of  the  moose,  though  keen,  dis- 
covered nothing.  But  presently  their  big 
ears,  thrust  forward  and  rigid  with  interroga- 
tion, caught  the  ghost  of  a  sound  across  the 
immense  silence.  It  might  almost  be  the 
padding  of  many  feet.  Then  here  and  there, 
from  the  depths  of  certain  spots  of  blacker 
shadow,  flashed  a  greenish  gleam,  points  of 
pale  fire,  which  might  be  eyes.  At  last  a 
breath  of  air,  an  exhalation  of  the  forest  so 
light  as  not  even  to  stir  the  long  fringes  of 
hair  pendant  from  the  bull's  throat,  came  to 
their  distended  nostrils.  It  was  a  scent 
unknown  to  them,  but  indescribably  sinister. 
Its  menace  daunted  them.  Indignant  and 
appalled,  they  backed  down  slowly,  side  by 
side,  into  the  water,  still  keeping  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  forest.  Then,  wheeling 
suddenly,  they  swam  out  into  the  orange 
radiance,  straining  toward  the  refuge  of  the 
far-off  opposite  shore. 


THE  INVADERS  77 


II 

THERE  were  eight  gigantic  wolves  in  the 
pack,  and  one  much  smaller  and  slenderer, 
who  seemed,  none  the  less,  to  wield  a  certain 
influence  over  her  fellows.  The  eight  were 
such  portentous  figures  as  one  would  never 
expect  to  see  in  the  eastern  wilderness,  being 
of  the  most  formidable  breed  of  Alaskan 
timber  wolf,  long  of  jaw  and  flank,  broad  of 
skull,  massive  of  shoulder,  deep  of  chest,  and 
each  powerful  enough  to  slash  the  throat  of  a 
caribou  cow  at  one  snap  and  to  pull  her 
down  in  her  run.  Yet,  with  one  exception, 
they  had  never  seen  Alaska,  or  a  running 
caribou,  or  the  wild  rivers  rolling  north,  or 
the  peaks  of  endless  snow.  They  had  been 
born  south  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  the 
limited  and  half-tamed  forests  of  Northern 
Vermont,  and  they  had  come  sweeping  north- 
eastward in  the  search  for  more  spacious 
solitudes. 

The  establishing  of  so  great  and  fierce  a 
company  in  the  ordered  east  had  come  about 
in  this  way.  Some  years  earlier,  at  a  village 
in  Northern  Vermont,  a  splendid  timber  wolf 


78  THE   INVADERS 

had  made  his  escape  from  the  caravan  of  a 
travelling  menagerie.  He  had  been  hunted, 
with  abundant  hue  and  cry,  for  several  days. 
But  he  was  sagacious.  He  did  not  halt  in 
his  long,  untiring  gallop  till  he  had  put  safe 
leagues  between  himself  and  his  pursuers, 
and  found  a  forest  wild  enough  to  hide  in. 
He  had  hunted,  with  wise  discretion,  deer 
and  hare  and  other  wild  creatures  only, 
and  had  strictly  withheld  himself  from 
all  quarry  that  he  thought  to  be  under 
the  protection  of  man.  Thanks  to  this 
prudence,  no  man  suspected  his  existence. 
After  a  while,  meeting  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  a  village  a  long- jawed,  wolfish- 
looking  mongrel  with  husky  and  deerhound 
in  her  veins,  he  had  easily  induced  her 
to  leave  her  master  and  take  to  the  wild 
life  for  which  she  had  always  had  a  dim 
craving.  She  had  hunted  beside  him  faith- 
fully, and  given  him  two  litters  —  big-boned 
whelps,  which  grew  up  as  huge  and  savage 
as  their  sire,  but  far  less  sagacious  than  he, 
and  of  more  evil  temper,  as  is  apt  to  be  the 
case  in  such  a  cross.  They  obeyed  their  sire 
and  leader  because  they  feared  him  and  felt 
his  dominance,  and  they  had  a  respect  for 


THE   INVADERS  79 

the  virulent  and  sudden  flame  of  their  slim 
mother's  wrath.  But  as  time  went  on,  and 
wild  game  grew  scarce,  they  could  not  be 
withheld  from  foraging  near  the  villages, 
and  so  they  presently  drew  to  themselves  the 
notice  of  men.  When  a  few  stray  heifers 
had  been  done  away  with,  and  many  sheep 
devoured,  and  several  innocent  dogs  shot  on 
suspicion,  then  the  wise  old  leader  pulled  the 
pack  sternly  together  and  led  it  eastward. 
The  eastward  march  was  long  and 
surrounded  with  many  perils.  Sometimes 
there  was  little  game,  and  the  pack  went 
long  hungry.  Sometimes  it  was  hard  to  find 
wooded  country  to  conceal  their  journeying, 
and  sometimes,  forced  to  take  toll  of  the 
flocks  of  some  village,  the  settlers  swarmed 
out  after  them  with  a  tumult  of  dogs  and 
guns  and  curses,  which  by  and  by  taught 
caution  to  the  most  turbulent  of  the  whelps. 
Several  carried  shot-pellets  under  their  hides, 
to  teach  them  that  their  leader's  prudence 
had  reason  in  it.  And  by  the  time  they 
reached  those  wild  regions  of  spruce  forest, 
lakes,  and  tangled  watercourses  where  the 
boundaries  of  Maine  impinge  on  those  of 
New  Brunswick  and  Quebec,  they  had 


8o  THE   INVADERS 

acquired  discipline  and  caution.  It  was  an 
invasion  formidable  beyond  anything  the 
wilderness  had  conceived  in  its  worst  dreams 
that  now  swept  on  through  the  high  soli- 
tudes to  northward  of  the  Upsalquitch  and 
Ottanoonsis. 

Among  the  furred  and  feathered  dwellers 
of  these  eastern  wilds  there  was  no  tradi- 
tion of  any  such  scourge  as  this  swift, 
ravening  pack.  Of  wolves  there  was, 
indeed,  a  sort  of  dim,  inherited  memory, 
but  it  had  to  do  with  the  small  eastern 
or  "  cloudy "  wolf,  courageous  enough  in  its 
way,  but  not  worth  having  nightmares 
about.  No  bear  or  moose  had  ever  paid 
much  attention  to  the  cloudy  wolf,  which 
had  been  practically  unknown  in  these  parts 
for  upwards  of  half  a  century.  But  rumours 
of  the  new  scourge  carried  a  chill  to  hearts 
which  had  hitherto  had  little  acquaintance 
with  fear,  and  a  sort  of  obscure  panic 
heralded  the  invasion  all  down  the  wild 
rivers  and  the  desolate  plateau  lakes.  So  it 
fell  that,  of  the  ruling  tribes  of  the  region, 
none  for  a  time  crossed  the  path  of  the 
invaders.  The  swarming  rabbits  and  the 
abundant  deer  kept  the  pack  in  fair  hunting, 


THE   INVADERS  81 

and  at  the  same  time,  in  their  astonished 
retreat,  led  it  on  ever  eastward. 

But  this  which  they  were  now  come  to  was 
a  country  of  bears,  and  it  was  inevitable 
that  the  pack  should  fall  foul  of  them.  One 
day,  as  the  eight  swept  noiselessly  on  the 
hot  trail  of  a  deer  —  noiselessly  because  the 
wise  leader  had  taught  them  the  need  of 
silence  in  the  dangerous  forests  of  their 
birth,  and  they  seldom  gave  tongue  except 
when  the  urge  of  the  full  moon  was  too 
overpowering  to  be  resisted  —  they  almost 
ran  into  a  huge  black  beast  which  stood 
directly  across  the  trail,  clawing  at  a  rotten 
stump.  They  stopped  short,  spread  out 
into  a  half-circle,  and  stood  on  tiptoes,  the 
hair  on  their  ridged  necks  and  shoulders 
bristling  stiffly. 

The  bear  was  equally  surprised.  An  old, 
solitary,  and  bad-tempered  individual  of  his 
highly  individual  race,  he  had  neither  heard 
of  nor  sensed  the  invasion  of  the  terrible 
hybrids,  nor  would  he  have  paid  much 
attention  had  he  sensed  it  ever  so  clearly. 
He  was  not  a  subject  for  panics.  Whirling 
about  to  face  the  intruders,  he  sat  back  on 
his  haunches,  grumbled  deeply  in  his  throat, 


82  THE   INVADERS 

lifted  one  great  paw,  with  its  long,  curved 
claws  projecting,  and,  with  lowered  head, 
eyed  his  opponents  fearlessly.  He  was  ready 
for  a  fight,  without  regard  to  consequences. 
At  the  same  time  he  was  equally  ready  for 
peace,  on  condition  that  he  was  left  severely 
alone.  He  was  too  interested  in  grubs  and 
berries  and  rotten  logs  to  think  of  seeking 
a  fight  for  its  own  sake. 

The  wolves  were  not  hungry,  and  they 
felt  that  the  bear  would  prove  no  easy  prey. 
In  an  irresolute  expectancy,  they  waited  till 
their  leader  should  give  signal  for  attack. 
Their  leader,  however,  who  sat  on  his 
haunches,  with  lolling  tongue,  just  before 
the  centre  of  the  half-circle,  was  in  no 
hurry  to  begin.  He  was  studying  the  foe, 
and  also  waiting  for  a  move.  As  befitted 
so  wary  a  leader,  he  had  the  gift  of  patience. 

It  was  a  gift  the  bear  had  not.  Presently, 
appearing  to  make  up  his  mind  that  the 
gaunt  strangers  had  no  wish  to  interfere 
with  his  pursuit  of  wood-grubs,  he  turned 
once  more  to  the  stump  and  tore  out  the 
whole  side  of  it  at  one  wrench  of  his  great 
forearm. 

In  that  same  instant  the  fiery  little  mongrel 


THE  INVADERS  83 

darted  forward  like  a  snake  and  snapped  at 
his  hindquarters,  hoping  to  hamstring  him. 
With  such  lightning  swiftness,  however,  did 
he  whirl  about  and  strike  at  her,  that  she 
got  no  more  than  a  mouthful  of  fur  in  her 
teeth,  and  only  escaped  that  eviscerating 
stroke  by  hurling  herself  clean  over,  like  a 
loosed  spring.  A  long  red  weal  on  her  flank 
showed  that  she  had  not  escaped  completely. 
Following  in  a  second  upon  her  rash 
attack,  the  rest  of  the  pack  had  surged 
forward ;  but,  seeing  that  his  mate  had 
cleared  herself,  the  leader  halted  abruptly, 
and  with  a  savage  yelp  tried  to  check  his 
followers.  They  obeyed,  for  they  saw  what 
sort  of  a  foe  they  had  to  deal  with.  But 
one,  the  most  headlong,  had  gone  too  far. 
A  sweeping  buffet  caught  him  fair  high  up 
on  the  chest.  It  hurled  him  clean  back 
among  his  fellows,  his  neck  broken  and  his 
throat  torn  out  by  the  rake  of  those  iron 
claws.  As  he  lay,  twitching  and  slavering, 
the  leader  surveyed  him  critically  and  came 
to  a  quick  decision.  It  was  no  use  risking, 
perhaps  breaking,  the  pack  upon  so  mighty 
an  adversary,  when  their  proper  quarry  was 
just  ahead,  and  there  was  no  desperate  famine 


84  THE   INVADERS 

to  drive  them.  Summoning  the  pack  sternly 
to  order,  he  led  it  aside  at  a  gallop,  picked  up 
the  trail  of  the  deer  again,  a  hundred  yards 
further  on,  and  left  the  body  of  the  victim 
to  whatever  fate  might  befall  it.  The  bear 
glared  after  them,  mumbling  angrily,  till 
they  were  out  of  sight.  Then  he  slouched 
over  to  the  body,  sniffed  at  it,  turned  it  over 
with  his  paw,  and  went  calmly  back  to  his 
stump  to  look  for  grubs.  He  had  no  appetite 
for  either  wolf  or  dog. 

The  pack  meanwhile,  raging  and  amazed, 
went  on,  and  in  due  time  made  its  kill. 
Feasting  on  the  warm  venison,  it  got  over 
its  discomfiture,  and  its  lost  member  was 
easily  forgotten.  But  it  had  learned  a 
useful  lesson. 

It  was  two  days  after  this  that  the  wolves 
came  to  the  lake  of  the  barrens,  and  from 
the  dark  covert  of  the  fir  woods  stared  forth 
wonderingly  upon  the  first  moose  which  they 
had  ever  seen. 

Two  days  earlier  the  wolves  would  have 
regarded  these  two  tall,  ungainly  shapes  on 
the  beach,  black  against  the  water,  as  but 
a  kind  of  exaggerated  deer,  and  would  have 
flown  at  them  without  hesitation.  But  now 


THE  INVADERS  85 

they  remembered  the  bear.  They  did  not 
quite  trust  the  colour  of  these  two 
high-shouldered,  long-muzzled  strangers, 
with  their  wide  splay  hooves  and  indifferent 
air.  They  waited  for  the  signal  of  their 
wary  leader,  and  that  signal,  again,  the 
wary  leader  was  in  no  hurry  to  give.  He 
was  uncertain  what  prowess,  what  unexpected 
energies,  might  lurk  in  these  bulks  that 
seemed  so  like  and  yet  so  unlike  deer.  But 
when  at  last  the  two  moose,  daunted  by  the 
unknown,  suddenly  plunged  into  the  water 
and  swam  off  through  the  orange  glow,  he 
concluded  they  were  a  quarry  to  be  hunted. 
Alone  he  stalked  forth  upon  the  open  beach, 
gazed  fixedly  after  the  fugitives  for  some 
moments,  till  he  made  sure  where  they  were 
bound  for,  and  then  stared  appraisingly  up  and 
down  the  shores,  as  if  calculating  the  circuit 
of  the  water.  Having  apparently  decided 
which  would  be  the  shortest  way  around,  he 
stalked  back  into  the  shadows.  A  moment 
later  the  pack  was  under  way  at  full  run, 
making  for  the  head  of  the  lake,  some  seven 
or  eight  miles  distant. 

The     pair     of     moose,     in     the     meantime, 
gained    the    opposite    shore    and    stalked    up, 


86  THE   INVADERS 

black  and  dripping,  beside  the  willows.  But 
they  did  not  stop  there.  The  fever  of 
change  was  upon  them,  and  when  a  moose 
gets  going,  he  is  liable  to  go  far.  With 
their  long,  shambling  trot,  which  seems  so 
effortless,  yet  so  inexorably  eats  up  the  miles, 
they  followed  along  the  stream  till  the 
orange  gleam  was  left  far  behind,  and  the 
bushy  levels  of  the  barren  began  to  lift 
into  low,  rounded  uplands,  sparsely  wooded. 
They  had  but  one  purpose  —  to  put  them- 
selves as  far  as  possible  from  those  flitting 
green  eyes  and  padding  footfalls  of  the  black 
fir  woods  by  the  lake. 

They  little  guessed  that  the  path  of  their 
indignant  flight  was  converging  toward  that 
of  the  green  eyes  and  padding  feet. 


Ill 


IT  was  a  night  of  early  moonrise,  and  the 
moon  near  the  full.  Far  back  among  the 
low  uplands  the  stream  broadened  out  into 
a  series  of  wide,  still  reaches  that  formed 
practically  a  sort  of  winding  lake.  At  an 
abrupt  elbow  of  this  lake-like  expansion, 


THE  INVADERS  87 

where  a  clump  of  tall  water-ash,  poplar,  and 
elderberry  thicket  made  a  little  island  in  a 
space  of  open  wild  meadow,  lay  hidden  two 
hunters.  They  had  come  up  from  the  coast 
to  eastward,  crossed  over  the  height  of  land, 
and  made  their  way  down  into  this  remote 
valley,  looking  for  moose. 

Both  men  carried  rifles.  One,  a  gigantic 
figure  of  a  man,  and  from  his  dress  obviously 
the  guide,  carried  also  a  light  axe  and  a 
long  roll  of  birch  bark  shaped  something 
like  a  trumpet.  This  was  the  season  for 
moose-calling. 

Seating  themselves  with  their  backs  to  the 
trunk  of  a  big  water-ash,  and  in  such  a 
position  that  they  were  fairly  hidden,  while 
commanding  a  free  view  of  all  approaches 
to  their  ambush,  the  two  made  themselves  as 
comfortable  as  possible  for  a  long,  motionless 
wait.  After  some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  of 
a  stillness  which  would  strain  the  nerves  of 
any  one  not  trained  to  it,  Adam  Moore,  the 
giant  guide,  lifted  the  birch-bark  tube  to  his 
lips  and  sounded  through  it  the  strange 
call  of  the  cow  moose,  harsh  and  formless, 
but  indescribably  wild  and  lonely  —  the  very 
voice,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  untamed  solitudes. 


88  THE   INVADERS 

It  came  lingeringly  from  the  guide's  cunning 
lips. 

"Faith,  Adam/'  murmured  Rawson,  "but 
you've  got  a  fetching  note  ! " 

Moore  allowed  himself  a  faint  grin  of 
acknowledgment,  for  this  lean,  hard-bitten, 
cool-eyed  Englishman,  who  had  hunted  big 
game  in  every  corner  of  the  earth,  was  one 
of  the  very  few  sportsmen  whose  commenda- 
tion he  cared  a  farthing  for.  After  a  few 
moments'  pause,  he  sounded  his  appeal  again, 
with  added  poignancy.  Then  he  lowered 
the  birchen  tube,  laid  it  across  his  knees, 
and  waited. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air.  The 
unstirring,  soundless  wilderness  seemed  as  if  it 
had  been  enchanted  into  glass  under  the  spell 
of  the  blue-white  moon.  But  suddenly  there 
came  a  far-off  sound  of  crashing  branches.  It 
drew  nearer  swiftly. 

"I  thought  that  would  fetch  him,  Adam," 
murmured  Rawson,  no  louder  than  a  breath 
of  air  in  the  poplar  leaves. 

He  lifted  his  rifle  and  rose  softly  to  one 
knee. 

A  moment  later  Moore  laid  a  great  hand 
softly  on  his  arm. 


THE   INVADERS  89 

"Queer,  that,"  he  whispered  —  "there's  two 
coming  !" 

Then  from  the  thick  growths  across  the 
meadow,  perhaps  three  hundred  yards  away, 
burst  the  two  fugitives.  Even  at  that  dis- 
tance one  could  see  that  they  were  sore 
pressed  and  spent.  The  cow,  in  particular, 
staggered  as  she  came  on.  The  antlers  of 
the  bull  were  magnificent,  but  Rawson  saw 
only  the  splendid  beast's  distress,  and  lowered 
his  gun  involuntarily. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,"  muttered  the 
guide,  rising  cautiously  to  his  feet  behind 
the  elder  bushes. 

The  fugitives  came  straight  on,  making 
for  the  refuge  of  the  water-ash  grove,  heed- 
less of  what  perils  it  might  hold  for  them  in 
their  terror  of  the  unknown  menace  that 
pursued.  Half-way  across  the  meadow  lay  a 
fallen  trunk,  carried  there  and  stranded  by 
some  past  freshet.  The  tall  bull  took  it 
in  his  stride,  but  the  cow,  apparently  half 
blind  with  exhaustion,  stumbled  over  it,  fell 
forward  on  her  muzzle  with  a  bleating  groan, 
and  lay  as  if  she  no  longer  cared  what  Fate 
might  bring  her. 

Finding  his  mate  no  longer  at    his    side,  the 


90  THE  INVADERS 

bull  halted  abruptly,  swung  back,  lowered 
his  huge  head  and  sniffed  at  her  solicitously. 
He  pushed  her  with  his  muzzle;  he  even 
struck  her  smartly  with  the  sharp  points  of 
his  antlers,  striving  to  force  her  to  further 
effort.  Then,  apparently  making  up  his 
mind  that  his  efforts  were  vain,  he  stood  over 
her  and  stared  back  along  the  trail  by  which 
they  had  come. 

"He's  game,  all  right!"  muttered  Rawson, 
his  eyes  aglow  with  admiration. 

The  next  moment  the  undergrowth  across 
the  meadow  parted  with  a  rush,  and  gaunt 
forms  came  leaping  into  the  moonlight. 

"Wolves!  Timber  wolves!"  exclaimed 
Moore  in  a  startled  voice.  He  had  been  west, 
and  knew  the  breed.  Eight  of  them !  He 
flung  down  his  birch-bark  horn  and  snatched 
up  his  rifle. 

Mad  from  their  long  chase,  the  wolves  did 
not  hesitate  a  second,  but  sprang  straight  on 
their  quarry,  their  grey  leader  half  a  length 
to  the  front.  As  they  came,  their  bared 
white  fangs  and  cold  eyes  gleaming  in  the 
moonlight,  the  waiting  bull  never  flinched. 
At  the  instant  when  the  leader  sprang  for 
his  throat,  he  reared,  towering  colossal  over 


THE   INVADERS  91 

the  onslaught,  and  struck  out  furiously  with 
his  knife-edged  hooves.  Unprepared  for  this 
novel  defence,  the  leader,  in  mid-spring, 
caught  that  pile-driver  blow  full  in  the  face. 
He  went  down  under  it,  with  his  whole  head 
crushed  in. 

The  next  second  came  the  crash  of 
Rawson's  rifle.  Another  wolf  dropped.  But 
the  rest  were  already  leaping  upon  the  gallant 
bull's  flank  and  shoulders,  striving  to  pull 
him  down.  Raging  at  the  sight,  the  English- 
man rushed  forward  to  his  defence,  firing 
once  more,  with  what  effect  he  did  not  stop 
to  notice,  and  then  swinging  his  rifle  like  a 
club.  Moore,  unable  to  shoot  lest  he  should 
strike  Rawson,  dropped  his  rifle,  swung  his 
axe,  and  followed  with  huge,  leaping  strides. 

Rawson  was  bringing  his  butt  down  across 
the  back  of  the  nearest  wolf,  erect  and  tearing 
at  the  bull's  neck,  when  from  the  tail  of  his 
eye  he  saw  a  smaller,  slimmer  beast  darting 
at  him  from  the  side.  Instinctively  he  shouted 
"Down!  Down!"  and  delivered  a  spasmodic 
kick  at  his  assailant,  catching  it  under  the 
jaw.  Had  he  been  less  fully  occupied  with 
what  was  going  on  before  him,  he  would 
have  been  much  astonished  to  see  this  one  of 


92  THE   INVADERS 

his  adversaries  drop  its  tail  between  its  legs 
with  a  yelp,  slink  around  behind  him,  and 
stand  staring  in  bewildered  submission.  The 
mongrel  had  been  recalled  suddenly  to  her 
ancient  allegiance  by  the  command  in  a 
master's  voice. 

The  hybrids,  with  no  longer  their  wise 
pack-leader  to  teach  them  prudence,  and 
maddened  by  this  unlooked-for  interference 
with  their  kill,  now  turned  a  portion  of  their 
fury  upon  their  new  opponents.  For  a 
moment  Rawson  had  his  hands  full  to  defend 
himself  against  the  leaps  of  a  flaming-eyed 
beast,  whom  he  could  only  fight  off  with 
short,  desperate  jabs,  having  no  room  for  a 
conclusive  blow.  At  the  same  time,  however, 
at  the  other  side  of  the  melee,  the  giant  guide 
was  swinging  his  axe  with  swift  effect,  and 
the  invaders  were  reduced  to  three.  The 
bull,  his  neck  and  shoulders  streaming  with 
blood,  but  suddenly  freed  from  close  pressure, 
was  lashing  out  once  more  with  his  battering 
fore-hooves  in  a  blind  fashion  that  made  him 
a  peril  to  friend  and  foe  alike.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  however,  he  grazed  the 
haunches  of  Rawson's  adversary,  causing  the 
brute  to  whirl  upon  him  with  a  snarl.  The 


THE   INVADERS  93 

diversion  gave  Rawson  a  chance  for  a  full, 
swinging  blow,  ending  that  quarrel.  Of  the 
remaining  two  wolves,  one,  springing  up 
sideways  at  the  guide's  face,  was  met  by  a 
low  sweep  of  the  axe,  which  shore  clean 
through  his  loins.  At  the  sound  of  his 
dying  yelp,  the  survivor  leaped  backwards, 
wheeled,  and  fled  from  the  lost  battle.  As 
he  ran,  lengthening  himself  out  belly  to 
earth,  Moore  swung  his  axe  again.  Launched 
with  the  unerring  aim  of  the  expert  back- 
woodsman, it  hurtled  through  the  air, 
swooped,  and  clove  the  fugitive's  haunches. 
The  guide  strode  calmly  forward,  recovered 
his  weapon,  and  with  a  tap  on  the  crown 
put  the  writhing  beast  out  of  its  misery. 

By  this  time  the  cow,  having  somewhat 
recovered  from  her  exhaustion,  was  struggling 
to  her  feet.  Seeing  this,  the  bull  turned 
threateningly  upon  his  rescuers.  Rawson 
jumped  away  just  in  time  to  avoid  a  savage 
thrust. 

"It's  evident  we're  not  wanted  here  any 
longer,"  he  laughed,  turning  to  go  back  to 
the  grove.  As  he  did  so,  the  mongrel,  hitherto 
unnoticed  because  she  had  made  herself  so 
discreetly  inconspicuous,  ranged  up  along- 


94  THE  INVADERS 

side  him  with  a  confiding  humility  that  was 
unmistakable.  The  Englishman  eyed  her 
for  a  second  or  two  in  amazement,  then 
remembered  and  understood. 

"You  get  out  of  this,  and  be  thankful 
you  get  out  with  a  whole  skin ! "  he  ordered 
coldly.  "You're  a  turncoat!"  He  was 
about  to  enforce  his  command  with  the 
butt  of  his  gun,  but  the  guide,  coming  up  at 
that  moment,  intervened. 

"No,"  said  he  decisively,  "don't  drive 
her  away.  I'm  glad  you've  refused  her.  I'll 
keep  her  myself.  She'll  be  worth  a  dozen 
of  your  ordinary  brutes  that  have  never  had 
the  spunk  to  kick  over  the  traces.  I  reckon 
she's  learnt  her  lesson,  an'  she  won't  run  wild 
again." 


A    Digger    of   Tubes 

FORCED  out  of  his  old  dwelling,  which 
had  been  both  commodious  and  retired, 
Hackee,  the  striped  chipmunk,  moved  indig- 
nantly over  to  the  next  hillside,  and  chose 
a  site  for  his  new  home  near  the  south  face  of 
the  dilapidated  stone  wall  which  separated  the 
beech  wood  from  the  upland  pasture. 

He  had  had  a  peculiarly  exasperating 
experience.  Quite  by  accident,  an  ill-con- 
ditioned but  obstinate  mongrel  terrier  from 
the  farm  down  in  the  valley  had  found  the 
narrow  entrance  to  his  underground  abode, 
and  had  started  to  dig  him  out.  This,  of 
course,  was  a  vain  undertaking  for  any  dog, 
for  not  only  was  the  entrance  tube  several 
yards  in  length  and  leading  a  good  three 
feet  below  the  surface,  but  the  central 
chamber,  or  dwelling  proper,  had  another 
exit,  yards  away,  by  which  Hackee  had  come 
out  at  his  leisure,  to  perch  on  a  near-by 

95 


96  A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

fence-rail  and  shriek  chattering  curses  at  the 
foolish  dog.  Having  a  strain  of  dachshund 
among  the  many  which  went  to  his  pedigree, 
the  terrier  had  really  done  a  fine  piece  of 
burrowing  before  he  realized  the  futility  of 
his  efforts,  and  backed  out  of  the  hole,  with 
eyes  and  fur  full  of  dirt,  to  give  ear  to 
Hackee's  shrill  insults,  and  trot  off  with 
assumed  indifference  in  search  of  some  more 
advantageous  enterprise. 

This  had  been  late  in  the  afternoon.  On 
the  edge  of  evening,  a  family  of  skunks  had 
come  by,  and  had  at  once  adopted  the  roomy 
burrow  which  the  terrier  had  excavated  for 
them.  Lazy  burrowers  themselves,  the 
skunks  were  no  fools.  They  knew  how  to 
profit  by  a  good  thing  when  it  came  their 
way.  They  had  continued  the  work  of  the 
dog  till  they  reached  Hackee's  central 
chamber.  To  Hackee's  voluble  and  stutter- 
ing wrath,  they  had  taken  possession  of  it 
at  once,  enlarging  it  to  suit  their  dimensions. 
They  were  certainly  no  company  for  a  chip- 
munk. There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
yield  place  to  these  lazy  but  formidable 
invaders.  Hackee  and  his  whole  family  had 
taken  themselves  off,  stealing  through  the 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  97 

violet  dusk  with  a  silent  diffidence  quite 
unlike  their  chattering  daylight  audacity. 
They  knew  that  the  dusk  was  peculiarly 
dangerous  for  them;  so  they  had  scattered 
at  once,  seeking  refuge  in  the  burrows  of 
friendly  neighbours,  or  in  nooks  which  their 
daylight  wanderings  had  revealed  to  them. 
It  had  been  a  nerve- trying  night  for  Hackee, 
trembling  in  a  hastily  enlarged  mouse-hole 
dangerously  near  the  fox-and-weasel-haunted 
surface.  As  soon  as  the  full  pink  tide  of 
sunrise  had  driven  the  night  prowlers  to 
their  dens,  he  had  set  himself  to  the  securing 
of  new  quarters.  For  none  knew  better 
than  he  that,  to  a  ground-squirrel  with  no 
underground  retreat,  this  sunny  hillside, 
these  cheerful,  tranquil  beech  woods,  these 
open  pastures  with  their  calm-eyed  cattle, 
were  a  region  of  imminent  and  deadly  hazard. 
Pending  a  decision  as  to  the  exact  spot 
where  he  would  begin  to  sink  his  tunnel, 
Hackee  kept  along  the  old  stone  wall, 
because,  with  its  chinks  and  crannies,  it  was 
more  likely  than  any  other  path  to  offer  him 
a  hiding-place  in  case  of  emergency.  In 
the  early  sunshine  there  were  many  other 
chipmunks  abroad,  out  for  their  morning 


98  A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

sip  of  dew.  They  were  playing  or  foraging 
among  the  leaves,  racing  in  utter  abandon 
of  mirth  up  and  down  the  old  wall,  or  sitting 
up  alertly  to  chirp  and  chatter  to  each  other 
their  satisfaction  at  the  promise  of  a  fine  day. 
But  Hackee  felt  himself  quite  alone  among 
them.  He  knew  that  each  of  them  had  a 
safe  burrow  close  at  hand.  He  had  no 
chattering  or  chirping  to  do.  He  was  a 
thing  apart,  a  chipmunk  without  a  hole. 
And  all  his  wits  were  anxiously,  concen- 
tratedly,  on  the  alert  against  the  perils  which 
he  knew  might  assail  him  from  earth  or  sky 
at  any  instant. 

He  was  not  even  hungry,  for  the  moment, 
because  his  anxiety  was  so  absorbing.  There- 
fore it  was  that  he,  being  the  most  vigilant, 
was  first  to  catch  sight  of  a  pigeon-hawk 
which  came  stealthily  through  the  branches 
of  a  great  birch  tree  near  the  wall,  and 
dropped  like  a  fly-catcher  in  the  «hope  of 
capturing  one  of  the  morning  revellers.  But 
Hackee's  piercing  chirrup  of  alarm,  ere  he 
whisked  into  a  crevice,  had  been  enough. 
Every  chipmunk  heard,  and  dodged  with  a 
celerity  which  even  that  swift  hawk  could  not 
match.  The  alarm  cry  passed  the  length  of 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  99 

the  wall.  The  hawk  pounced  this  way  and 
that,  zigzagging  with  a  speed  to  confuse  the 
eye.  But  not  a  chipmunk  could  he  catch; 
and  presently,  in  the  sulks,  he  sailed  off  to 
try  his  luck  with  less  nimble  game. 

When  he  was  gone,  Hackee  whisked  out 
from  between  the  stones,  ran  on  some  fifty 
feet  further,  and  stopped  to  peer  about  him 
carefully.  This  seemed  a  likely  spot  for  his 
purpose,  and  it  was  not  overcrowded.  On 
the  pasture  side  of  the  wall  a  big  chipmunk 
came  out  from  a  hole  about  three  feet  distant, 
whisked  up  the  stones,  and  scolded  insolently 
at  the  stranger.  But  Hackee  was  not 
insulted.  He  was  a  stranger,  and  he  knew 
he  must  take  the  consequences.  He  proposed 
to  get  over  being  a  stranger  just  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  to  this  end  he  decided  to 
establish  himself  just  opposite  his  insulter, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stone  wall.  Here 
the  beech  trees  were  scattered,  and  the  sward 
was  close  and  firm,  such  as  he  loved,  and 
the  autumn  sunlight  lay  warm  under  the 
wall. 

Some  three  or  four  feet  from  the  wall  he 
marked  a  spreading,  prickly  bush  of  juniper, 
under  which,  as  he  calculated,  he  might 


ioo          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

begin  his  digging  operations  without  much 
fear  of  interruption.  All  seemed  secure. 
No  hawk  or  fox  was  to  be  seen.  The  red 
squirrels  and  the  blue- jays  wrangled  merrily 
and  carelessly  in  the  trees  —  a  sure  sign  that 
there  was  no  marauder  about.  Along  the 
wall  and  on  the  close,  gossamery  turf  at 
either  side,  other  chipmunks  gambolled  or 
foraged  or  scratched  at  the  sod  with  their 
clever  little  hand-like  paws.  And  a  soft, 
irregular  tonk-tink,  tonka-tink,  tonkle  came 
from  the  line  of  red-and-white  cows  loitering 
up  to  the  pasture  from  the  milking-shed. 

Hackee  gave  a  chirrup  of  satisfaction,  and 
was  on  the  very  point  of  jumping  down  from 
the  wall,  when  a  piercing  chirr  of  alarm 
stiffened  him  to  stone.  Everywhere,  on  the 
instant,  he  saw  chipmunk  after  chipmunk 
flash  frantically  to  its  hole,  shrieking  the 
great  danger  signal  as  it  vanished. 

For  half  a  second  Hackee's  heart  stood 
still,  for  this,  according  to  the  signals,  was 
one  of  the  most  dreaded  enemies  of  his  tribe  — 
a  weasel.  From  this  enemy,  a  swift  pursuer 
and  a  tireless,  implacable  tracker,  there  was 
but  one  safe  refuge  —  the  chipmunk's  hole, 
too  narrow  at  the  entrance  for  a  weasel  to 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  101 

squeeze  himself  into.  And  Hackee  had  no 
hole  to  take  refuge  in.  He  knew  that  he 
would  be  smelt  out  immediately  if  he  tried 
to  hide  in  some  cranny  of  the  wall.  For 
some  precious  moments  he  stood  there  alone 
in  the  perilous  world,  his  sharp  stripes  of 
black  and  cream  vivid  on  the  foxy  red  of 
his  cheeks  and  sides.  Suddenly  the  weasel 
slipped  into  view,  emerging  upon  the  top  of 
the  wall,  a  long,  low,  sinuous,  deadly  appari- 
tion, with  a  vicious,  pointed  face  and  cruel 
eyes.  He  was  not  more  than  ten  feet  away. 

Hackee  came  to  himself.  He  bounded 
into  the  air  as  if  galvanized,  came  down  on 
the  pasture  side  of  the  wall,  and  slipped 
like  an  eel  down  into  the  burrow  of  the 
stranger  chipmunk.  The  weasel  was  so 
close  at  his  twinkling  heels  that  Hackee 
heard  the  snap  of  jaws  just  behind  the  tip 
of  his  tail. 

Exasperated  at  this  escape  when  he  had 
felt  sure  of  an  easy  kill,  the  weasel  strove, 
with  a  snarl,  to  force  his  triangular  head 
down  the  narrow  entrance.  As  he  knew, 
however,  from  many  a  previous  effort,  this 
was  a  waste  of  time.  He  presently  gave  it 
up,  and  darted  off  on  the  trail  of  a  rabbit 


102          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

which  was  unlucky  enough  to  go  hopping 
by  at  that  moment. 

Hackee  knew  well  enough  that,  as  a  stranger 
to  the  burrow,  and  especially  as  an  invader 
from  another  colony,  he  need  by  no  means 
look  for  a  welcome  in  his  forced  refuge. 
He  kept  near  the  entrance,  therefore, 
trembling  and  making  himself  small,  and 
hoping  that  the  proprietor  would  not  appear. 
But  it  was  a  vain  hope.  Within  a  half 
minute  the  proprietor  did  appear,  and  rushed 
at  Hackee  open-mouthed  with  a  most  in- 
hospitable squeal.  Hackee  understood  very 
well  that  etiquette  required  him  to  withdraw 
from  that  hole  at  once.  But  etiquette  was 
of  little  concern  for  him  so  long  as  he  thought 
the  weasel  might  be  waiting  outside.  He 
met  the  attack  with  the  courage  of  necessity, 
and  for  a  few  seconds  the  narrow  confines  of 
the  tube  were  rilled  with  chirrups  and  squeals 
and  flying  foxy  fur. 

Suddenly  the  proprietor,  indignant  at 
this  refusal  of  Hackee's  to  go  out  and  feed 
the  foe,  withdrew  to  seek  reinforcements. 
Hackee  understood  what  his  withdrawal 
meant.  He  had  no  wish  to  fight  the  whole 
family.  Slipping  back  to  the  entrance,  he 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  103 

stuck  the  very  tip  of  his  nose  out  and 
sniffed.  The  taint  of  weasel  was  on  the  air, 
but  it  was  certainly  disappearing.  Very 
cautiously  he  put  his  whole  head  out  and 
peered  around  with  keen,  wary  eyes.  The 
weasel  was  nowhere  in  sight.  For  a  little 
he  waited  there,  half  in  and  half  out.  Then 
came  a  scurrying  of  feet  behind  him  in  the 
depths  of  the  burrow.  He  darted  forth 
discreetly  and  whisked  into  a  hole  in  the 
wall.  The  next  moment  the  inhospitable 
household  came  forth  one  by  one,  and  began 
chattering  uncomplimentary  things  about 
him  which  he  did  not  think  it  worth  his 
while  replying  to.  Slyly  peering  forth  with 
one  eye  from  his  hiding-place,  he  noticed 
that  all  this  chatter  failed  to  bring  back  the 
weasel.  This  being  proof  enough  that  the 
coast  was  now  clear,  he  whisked  out,  jumped 
over  the  wall,  and  under  the  shelter  of  the 
juniper  bush  where  he  proposed  to  have  his 
front  door. 

He  began  by  digging  a  round  hole,  per- 
haps three-quarters  of  an  inch  in  diameter. 
With  sharp,  jerky  motions  he  packed  the 
edges  hard  and  firm,  till  the  diameter  was 
enlarged  to  a  full  inch.  The  earth,  every 


io4          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

morsel  of  it,  he  carried  off  in  his  capacious 
cheek  pouches  —  which  stretched  far  back 
under  the  loose  skin  of  his  neck  —  to  empty 
it  under  another  bush  half  a  dozen  yards 
away.  He  was  much  too  wary  to  leave  the 
fresh  earth,  to  betray  him,  on  the  grass 
beside  the  entrance;  and,  moreover,  he 
was  too  cunning  to  leave  any  trail  between 
this  dumping-ground  and  his  place  of  opera- 
tions. He  made  the  journey  to  and  fro  by 
great  leaps,  swerving  erratically  now  to  one 
side,  now  to  the  other. 

The  entrance  looked  hardly  wide  enough 
to  admit  his  head.  But  that,  he  knew,  was 
sufficient;  for  where  his  head  could  go 
through,  there  could  go  through  also  his 
whole  lithe  body,  which,  for  all  its  strength, 
was  as  supple  almost  as  a  glove.  At  a 
depth  of  less  than  an  inch,  however,  he 
began  to  enlarge  the  shaft  gradually.  He 
worked  with  a  nervous,  jerky  vehemence. 
Every  half  minute  he  would  back  out  and 
lift  his  head  —  whiskers,  forehead  and  ears 
covered  with  earth  —  to  take  a  swift  look 
about  and  assure  himself  that  no  enemies 
were  approaching.  And  his  trips  to  the 
other  bush,  his  dumping-ground,  took  place 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  105 

with  amazing  frequency,  so  resolute  was  he 
that  not  a  grain  of  new  soil  should  remain 
beside  his  doorway. 

The  shaft  which  Hackee  was  digging  so 
assiduously  led  straight  downward.  At  a 
depth  of  four  or  five  inches  its  diameter  was 
sufficient  for  him  to  turn  around  in  it 
comfortably.  At  this  diameter  he  kept  it. 
He  could  now  work  with  more  security  and 
satisfaction,  because,  being  completely  hidden, 
he  was  not  compelled  to  look  about  him  for 
enemies  every  half  minute.  Turning  him- 
self round  and  round,  he  packed  the  walls 
of  the  shaft  hard  as  he  went,  and  so  reduced 
considerably  the  number  of  his  trips  to  the 
dumping-ground . 

Straight  downward  the  strenuous  digger 
sank  his  shaft  through  the  light  soil  to  a 
depth  of  nearly  four  feet.  Then  he  turned 
at  an  abrupt  angle,  and  began  running  his 
tube  diagonally,  with  a  gentle  upward  slope, 
towards  the  stone  wall.  But  by  this  time 
he  had  done  so  much  excavation  that  he  felt 
the  need  of  finding  a  new  dumping-ground, 
it  being  against  his  doctrine  to  make  any  of 
his  operations  too  conspicuous.  Moreover, 
having  now  a  refuge,  a  place  that  he  could 


io6          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

call  his  own,  however  unfinished,  he  began 
to  realize  that  he  was  hungry.  Such  a 
bundle  of  energy  and  fiery  nerves  as  a 
chipmunk  cannot  go  long  without  feeding 
his  forces. 

Whisking  forth  from  his  hole,  he  sprang 
to  the  wall,  ran  up  it,  and  perched  himself 
on  its  highest  stone  to  look  about.  He  sat 
up  now  with  a  confident  flirt  of  his  tail, 
chattered  a  defiant  proclamation  of  pro- 
prietorship, and  proceeded  to  make  a  hasty 
but  necessary  toilet,  combing  the  earth  from 
his  ears  and  fur.  Several  other  chipmunks, 
belonging  to  the  immediate  neighbourhood, 
eyed  him  doubtfully,  as  if  half  inclined  to 
combine  and  drive  him  away.  But  his 
assured  air  had  its  effect,  and  he  was  not 
interfered  with. 

His  toilet  accomplished,  he  sprang  down 
again  from  the  wall  and  began  rummaging 
for  nuts  among  the  leaves  beneath  the 
nearest  tree.  But  this  was  ground  that  had 
evidently  been  well  gone  over.  He  went  on 
deeper  into  the  grove.  It  was  a  pleasant 
place  for  his  foraging.  The  bland  autumn 
sunlight  came  sifting  down  through  the 
browning  leaves.  There  was  no  wind, 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES          107 

but  the  branches  were  gay  with  screaming 
blue-jays  and  chirring,  .  jibing  red-squirrels ; 
and  from  time  to  time  two  or  three  nuts 
would  come  pattering  down,  either  dropping 
of  their  own  ripeness,  or  jarred  off  by  the 
tree-top  revellers.  Hackee  was  not  long  in 
making  his  meal;  and  then,  being  ever  a 
provident  soul,  he  began  to  cram  his  cheek- 
pouches. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  a  trim  moose- 
bird  bounced  down  hard  upon  the  leaves  a 
few  feet  ahead  of  him,  scrutinized  him  with 
bright,  impudent  eyes,  squawked  harshly, 
and  finally  made  a  rush  at  him  with  open 
beak  and  lifted  wings.  But  Hackee  knew 
the  moose-bird  for  a  mischievous  bluffer  and 
practical  joker,  and  he  carelessly  went  on 
gathering  nuts. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  fantastic  bird 
danced  about  him,  getting  more  and  more 
excited  at  finding  herself  ignored.  It  looked 
as  if  she  might  almost  work  herself  up  to 
the  supreme  audacity  of  tweaking  the  busy 
forager's  tail.  But  suddenly  there  came  a 
scream  of  warning  from  the  sentinel  blue- 
jay  in  a  near-by  tree- top.  It  was  taken  up 
on  the  instant  by  a  chorus  of  shrill  voices. 


io8          A  DIGGER  OF   TUBES 

The  moose-bird  flew  up  to  a  convenient 
branch,  and  Hackee,  thinking  it  might  be 
a  hawk  that  was  coming,  whisked  under  a 
root  and  peered  forth  anxiously. 

There  was  no  sign  of  a  hawk;  but 
presently  he  made  out  two  blue-jays,  in  the 
next  tree,  peering  and  scolding  down  at 
something  on  the  ground.  Their  accents 
told  him  it  was  a  fox.  If  so,  this  hiding 
under  the  root  was  no  place  for  him. 
Slipping  around  the  trunk,  in  the  hope  of 
putting  it  between  himself  and  the  enemy's 
eye,  he  made  a  dart  for  the  wall.  But  the 
fox  saw  him  and  gave  chase. 

It  was  a  desperate  race,  but  Hackee  won. 
He  whisked  down  into  his  hole  just  as  the 
fox  arrived.  At  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  how- 
ever, he  crouched  trembling.  He  had  for- 
gotten till  now  that  the  unfinished  tube 
might  not  be  a  refuge,  but  a  trap.  He 
knew  that  the  fox  was  a  good  digger.  His 
heart  thumped  wildly,  and  he  crowded  him- 
self into  the  beginning  of  the  level  gallery, 
fearing  lest  the  fox  should  look  down  and 
perceive  his  predicament. 

If  the  fox  had  been  young  and  ignorant, 
or  excitable  enough  to  indulge  in  apparently 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  109 

futile  effort,  Hackee's  career  would  have 
come  to  an  end  at  this  point.  But,  happily 
for  him,  this  fox  was  a  wise  one.  He  knew 
that  chipmunks  not  only  had  deep  and 
elaborate  burrows,  but  also  that  they  always 
dug  them  with  more  than  one  exit.  How 
was  he  to  guess  that  this  case  was  the  one 
exception  in  a  thousand  instances?  He 
blinked  shrewdly,  threw  a  quick,  sharp  glance 
about  to  see  if  he  might  not  snap  up  the 
fugitive  in  the  act  of  emerging  from  some 
back-door,  and  then  went  trotting  off  in- 
differently down  along  the  wall,  pouncing 
on  the  fat  locusts  as  he  went. 

As  soon  as  Hackee  had  recovered  his 
composure,  he  fell  again  to  his  digging,  and 
soon  had  his  level  tube  advanced  a  couple  of 
feet.  According  to  the  plan  which  he  was 
carrying  in  his  capable  little  brain,  the 
central  chamber,  or  main  habitation,  was  to 
come  directly  under  the  wall;  and  then,  for 
the  better  baffling  of  all  kinds  of  enemies, 
the  second  entrance  was  to  be  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  in  the  pasture  field.  But 
by  this  time  he  was  once  more  hungry.  And 
now  he  remembered  the  stores  which  had 
been  left  behind  in  the  old  burrow.  Some 


no          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

of  them,  doubtless,  being  in  narrow  side 
galleries,  would  be  well  away  from  the  in- 
truding skunks,  who  had  no  interest,  more- 
over, in  the  nuts  and  grains  and  roots  which 
make  up  chipmunks'  hoard.  He  hoped  to 
be  able  to  come  at  these  treasures,  by  a  little 
tunnelling,  without  being  brought  into  contact 
with  the  objectionable  usurpers. 

Reaching  the  old  home  and  slipping  in  by 
the  back  door,  he  found  that  several  other 
members  of  his  household  had  anticipated 
him.  They  had  stopped  up  the  back  exit  a 
little  way  from  the  central  chamber,  thus 
cutting  themselves  off  from  the  skunk  family, 
and  they  were  now  busily  engaged  in  feasting 
on  the  accumulated  stores.  Hackee  followed 
their  example  till  his  own  hunger  was 
satisfied,  and  then  lured  them  back,  each 
with  crammed  pouches,  to  the  new  home 
beside  the  stone  wall,  where  they  all  fell 
to  with  a  zest  at  the  work  of  excavating. 

In  two  or  three  days  the  new  home  was 
finished,  and  all  the  accessible  stores  from 
the  old  place  safely  removed  to  it.  The 
main  tube,  from  the  original  entrance  shaft, 
ran  on  a  gentle  upward  slope  for  a  distance 
of  some  seven  or  eight  feet  to  the  central 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  in 

chamber,  the  real  dwelling  of  the  family. 
This  chamber,  perhaps  a  couple  of  feet  in 
length,  but  considerably  less  in  width,  and 
nearly  a  foot  high  to  the  centre  of  its  arched 
ceiling,  was  spread  with  a  thick  layer  of  the 
finest  and  silkiest  of  dry  grasses.  It  lay 
exactly  beneath  the  stone  wall.  Off  it  led 
several  short  storage  galleries,  to  be  enlarged 
or  duplicated  as  the  accumulation  of  stores 
might  call  for.  Another  tube,  five  or  six 
feet  long  and  slanting  slightly  downward, 
was  run  from  the  rear  of  the  living-room, 
and  terminated  in  a  second  perpendicular 
shaft  similar  to  the  first.  The  top  of  this 
shaft  was  in  the  open  pasture  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  and  depended  for  its  privacy 
on  the  short  grasses  fringing  its  tiny  entrance. 
Thus  comfortably  established,  Hackee  and 
his  diminished  household  —  for  several  of  the 
family  had  meanwhile  settled  themselves 
elsewhere  —  slipped  without  further  difficulty 
into  the  life  of  their  new  neighbourhood. 
The  chipmunks  being  a  friendly  folk,  there 
was  no  more  hostility  shown  to  the  new- 
comers, who  now  took  their  part  as  a  matter 
of  course  in  the  gambols  among  the  dry 
leaves  and  in  the  chattering  conversations 


ii2          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

which  sometimes  went  on  interminably 
through  the  long,  drowsy  afternoons.  Nuts 
were  abundant  that  autumn,  so  the  supplies 
in  the  storage  galleries  increased  till  there 
was  no  fear  of  a  winter  scarcity.  And  to 
vary  the  diet  there  was  a  neglected  apple 
orchard  a  little  way  down  the  hillside,  while 
big  brown  locusts  and  late  grasshoppers  were 
still  abundant. 

But  Hackee,  having  once  been  singled 
out  by  the  wild  wood  Fates  for  discipline, 
was  not  to  be  suffered  to  slip  into  his  peace- 
ful winter  sleep  without  further  trials.  One 
day  two  boys  and  a  dog  appeared,  with 
apparently  nothing  better  to  do  than  throw 
stones  at  chipmunks.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
boys,  not  having  guns,  were  regarded  as 
harmless,  it  being  a  poor  chipmunk  that 
couldn't  dodge  a  stone.  But  the  dog  —  that 
was  another  matter.  Dogs  might  dig  and 
damage  good  front  doors.  There  was  a 
general  chorus  of  alarm  signals,  and  most 
of  the  chipmunks,  including  Hackee  himself, 
disappeared  into  their  burrows. 

The  two  boys  sat  on  the  wall  and  began 
to  munch  the  apples  with  which  their  pockets 
were  stuffed.  The  dog,  stumbling  by  chance 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  113 

upon  Hackee's  front  door  beneath  the  jumper 
bush,  sniffed  at  it  long  and  interestedly,  and 
then  began  to  bark.  The  boys  jumped 
down  from  the  wall  and  " sicked"  him  on 
eagerly.  But  this  dog  was  not  one  of  the 
digging  tribe.  He  knew  he  couldn't  be 
expected  to  crawl  down  such  a  hole  as  that, 
so,  having  no  idea  what  was  expected  of 
him,  he  nearly  went  wild  with  excitement 
and  anxiety. 

Seeing  that  the  dog  was  not  going  to  dig, 
the  boys  conceived  the  idea  of  imprisoning 
Hackee  in  his  own  home.  It  was  not  exactly 
cruelty  on  their  part,  but  rather  an  impulse 
toward  vague  experimenting.  Here  was  a 
mysterious  hole,  with  something  alive  in  it. 
What  more  natural  than  to  try  and  kill  that 
something,  and  see  what  would  happen? 
They  got  a  long  stake  and  jammed  it  into 
the  hole,  while  the  dog  jumped  around 
them,  yelping  his  admiration  of  their  prowess. 
To  their  amazement,  the  stake  went  down 
with  the  greatest  ease  to  a  distance  of  nearly 
four  feet  before  it  stopped  with  a  jerk. 

"Gee,"  remarked  one  boy,  "but  that 
fellow  likes  a  deep  hole  all  right!"  And 
he  ground  the  stake  home  vigorously. 


ii4          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

"S'pose  we  got  him?"  queried  the  other 
boy,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  stake. 

"Of  course!"  yelped  the  dog  in  an  ecs- 
tasy. 

The  first  boy  cautiously  pulled  up  the  stake, 
the  dog  scrambling  in  as  if  he  expected  the 
unknown  hole-dweller  to  follow  it  forth. 
The  boy  examined  the  point  of  the  stake. 
There  was  no  blood  on  it.  Every  one  looked 
disappointed,  and  the  dog  drooped  his  tail 
in  dejection. 

"No!  Missed  him,  I  guess,"  decided 
the  boy.  "But  we'll  stop  up  his  hole  for 
him,  the  beggar!"  And  he  proceeded  to 
drive  the  stake  home  once  more. 

Hackee,  meanwhile,  filled  with  curiosity 
and  wrath,  had  come  out  by  his  back  door  to 
see  what  the  strangers  were  up  to,  and  was 
now  sitting  on  the  wall,  not  a  dozen  feet 
away,  expressing  his  feelings  with  explosive 
vehemence. 

"Darn  that  chipmunk!"  remarked  one  of 
the  boys,  flinging  an  apple-core  at  him. 
"He's  making  fun  of  us !" 

But  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  For  Hackee 
was  not  making  fun.  He  was  cursing  them 
with  all  the  maledictions  in  which  the  Ian- 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  115 

guage  of  squirrel  and  chipmunk  appears  to 
be  so  rich. 

Of  course,  it  was  Hackee's  business  to  dig 
a  new  front  door  without  delay.  He  did, 
indeed,  begin  one  promptly  —  from  within  — 
as  soon  as  the  troublesome  visitors  were  out 
of  sight.  But  he  and  the  whole  household 
were  already  beginning  to  grow  a  little  in- 
dolent, in  premonition  of  the  long  winter's 
sleep  which  was  soon  to  come  upon  them, 
and  after  nearly  three  days  the  new  shaft 
•vas  yet  uncompleted. 

Just  at  this  critical  moment  came  the  most 
to  be  dreaded  of  all  the  chipmunk's  ene- 
mies, and  caught  Hackee  unready.  A  black 
snake,  alert  in  the  warm  noonday  sun,  and 
himself  on  the  look-out  for  winter  quarters, 
chanced  upon  Hackee's  back  door  there  in 
the  open  pasture.  Being  a  snake  of  prompt 
decisions,  he  whipped  in  instantly  and  made 
for  the  central  chamber,  feeling  sure  that  he 
would  find  some  of  the  family  at  home. 

They  were  at  home  —  Hackee  and  three 
others.  As  that  dreadful  black  form,  noise- 
less and  lithe  and  but  dimly  visible,  came 
gliding  into  the  chamber,  Hackee  and  two 
of  his  companions  darted  criss-cross  up  and 


ii6          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

over  the  ceiling  in  a  mad  whirl  of  despera- 
tion. But  the  fourth,  an  inexperienced 
young  female  of  the  season,  was  unlucky 
enough  to  catch  the  snake's  set,  malignant 
eye.  She  crouched  for  half  a  second, 
paralyzed.  Then,  recovering  herself  with  a 
violent  effort,  she  darted  down  the  old  tube 
leading  to  the  closed  front  shaft.  The  snake 
darted  after  her  at  once,  and  as  his  tail 
vanished  into  the  tube,  Hackee  and  the 
others  dropped  shuddering  from  the  ceiling 
behind  him. 

When  the  unhappy  little  fugitive  reached 
the  foot  of  the  blocked  shaft,  she  turned  at 
bay.  At  the  same  instant  the  snake  arrived. 
Striking  before  she  had  time  to  put  up  any 
defence,  he  drove  his  long,  back-set  fangs 
deep  into  her  muzzle.  Being  not  a  venomous 
snake,  but  one  of  the  constrictor  family,  his 
impulse  was  to  wind  her  in  his  coils  and 
crush  her  to  a  pulp  before  devouring  her; 
and  therefore  he  wished  to  drag  her  back  to 
the  chamber.  But  though  she  was  dazed  by 
the  blow  on  the  nose,  she  was  not  completely 
stunned  by  it,  because  her  assailant  had  had  no 
room  to  strike  with  effective  force.  Spread- 
ing herself  flat,  and  digging  in  her  claws,  she 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  117 

resisted  the  snake's  efforts  to  pull  her  back. 
Finding  the  task  so  difficult,  and  his  appetite 
unusually  insistent,  he  wasted  no  more  time, 
but  simply  began  to  swallow  her,  head  first, 
as  she  was. 

It  was  a  slow  process,  especially  in  the 
beginning.  But  as  che  victim  was  engorged, 
and  her  breath  finally  cut  off,  her  struggles 
ceased;  and  in  two  or  three  minutes  her 
shoulders,  too,  had  vanished  down  that 
distended  and  writhing  throat. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  two  members  of  the 
family,  convulsed  with  panic,  had  fled  out 
and  hidden  themselves  in  the  crannies  of  the 
wall.  But  Hackee  himself,  being  a  veteran 
of  many  battles,  always  courageous,  and 
charged  with  responsibility  as  head  of  the 
household,  had  pulled  himself  quickly  to- 
gether and  remained  in  the  burrow.  He 
knew  well  enough  that  it  was  all  over  with 
his  little  companion.  He  understood  the 
ways  of  the  black  snakes  also,  and  he 
could  tell  by  the  sounds  that  came  from  the 
depths  of  the  tube  just  how  this  ghastly 
business  of  the  swallowing  progressed.  As 
he  listened,  his  rage  grew  hotter  and  hotter, 
till  presently,  judging  that  by  this  time  the 


ii8          A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES 

assassin  would  have  the  victim  so  far 
swallowed  as  to  be  incapable  of  quickly 
disgorging  it,  he  darted  into  the  tube  and 
bit  clean  through  the  snake's  backbone  just 
at  the  base  of  the  tail. 

The  long,  trailing  body  writhed  and  lashed, 
but  there  in  the  narrow  tube  it  had  no  room 
to  coil  itself.  Hackee  raced  nimbly  along 
it,  heedless  of  the  jamming  and  buffeting  he 
received,  and  fell  furiously  upon  the  tight- 
stretched  skin  at  the  back  of  the  reptile's 
head.  Flattening  himself  down  upon  the 
body,  he  clung  so  tightly  that  the  maddest 
lashings  could  not  dislodge  him,  and,  of 
course,  the  hideously-distended  jaw  was 
powerless  to  seize  him.  With  his  keen  teeth 
he  bit  and  bit,  now  gnawing  like  a  rat,  now 
worrying  like  a  terrier,  till  presently  he 
succeeded  in  severing  the  spinal  cord. 

The  convulsive  lashings  and  twistings 
dropped  to  a  strong,  quivering  motion; 
but  for  a  while  Hackee,  in  his  rage,  con- 
tinued to  bite  and  worry  his  now  impotent 
enemy,  till  at  last,  realizing  that  his  victory 
was  complete,  he  withdrew  and  ran  out 
into  the  sun  to  make  his  toilet  and  proclaim 
his  triumph.  When  he  had  informed  the 


A  DIGGER  OF  TUBES  119 

whole  neighbourhood  of  it,  and  even  con- 
vinced his  trembling  household,  he  returned 
to  the  burrow,  and  proceeded  to  wall  up  the 
old  tube  firmly  to  a  depth  of  a  good  eighteen 
inches,  thus  securing  to  a  certainty  that 
the  entombed  slain  should  cause  no  more 
annoyance  to  chipmunks. 


The    Leader    of   the    Run 

HE  was  a  magnificent  fish,  by  far  the  finest 
in  the  pool  —  all  shining  silver  and  the 
blue  of  damascened  steel,  fine  in  the  head, 
massive  in  the  shoulder,  trim  in  the  base  of 
the  tail,  broad  in  the  flukes,  clean  to  the  last 
scale,  fresh  run  from  the  sea. 

The  pool,  deep  and  spacious,  was  full  of 
clear  amber  light;  for  the  river  was  one  of 
those  northern  New  Brunswick  streams  whose 
waters,  though  of  an  exquisite  transparency, 
are  tinged  with  the  colouring  of  a  brown 
topaz.  Through  the  centre  of  the  pool 
swept  the  current  in  strong,  slow  swirls, 
streaked  here  and  there  with  fine  threads  of 
foam  from  the  wild  rapids  above.  But  at 
either  side  the  water  lay  tranquilly  shimmer- 
ing over  slopes  of  bright  sand. 

The  splendid  fish  was  not  alone,  for  a 
good  run  of  his  kindred  had  come  up  with 
him  from  the  gulf,  and  they  were  all  resting 

120 


THE   LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    121 

a  while  in  this  favoured  pool  before  essaying 
the  long  stretch  of  rapids  and  heavy  water 
which  lay  immediately  before  them.  But 
not  one  of  them  could  compare  with  their 
leader  for  size,  vigour,  swift  alertness,  or  the 
purity  of  the  points  of  colour  underlying  the 
sheen  of  his  iridescent  sides. 

It  was  a  leased  water,  this  lone  and  remote 
branch  of  the  Little  North- West;  and 
because  it  was  reputed  one  of  the  best 
salmon  streams  in  the  province,  the  price 
came  high  in  spite  of  its  remoteness,  and 
much  care  was  given  to  the  protection  of  it. 
In  spite  of  wardens  and  watchmen,  however, 
there  were  poachers  not  a  few  who  managed 
to  find  their  way  to  the  teeming  pools.  And 
the  salmon,  energetic  from  their  long  sojourn 
in  the  vivifying  waters  of  the  sea,  and  fiery 
with  the  urge  of  spring  in  their  blood,  had 
no  care  to  hide  their  coming.  No  sooner 
had  they  arrived  in  the  pool  than  they  began 
to  advertise  their  presence  fearlessly,  leaping 
half  their  length  above  the  surface,  flashing 
an  instant  all  silver  in  the  sun,  and  falling 
back  with  a  heavy  splash  which  was  nothing 
less  than  a  summons  to  all  their  enemies 
within  remotest  earshot. 


122    THE   LEADER  OF  THE   RUN 

It  was  not  long  before  that  summons 
brought  a  response. 

From  the  foamy  mouth  of  a  brook  which 
emptied  into  the  lower  part  of  a  pool  to  the 
right,  emerged  a  dark,  lithe  beast  of  perhaps 
four  feet  in  length.  His  long,  sinuous, 
muscular  body,  with  its  very  short  legs  and 
powerful,  tapering  tail,  had  much  of  the  fish- 
like  suggestion  of  the  seal.  His  head  was 
short  and  heavy-jawed,  his  eyes  luminous  and 
intelligent.  Dripping  from  the  foam  of  the 
noisy  brook,  he  climbed  a  sloping  rock  and 
poised  himself  rigid  as  the  rock  itself  while 
he  watched  the  pool  till  he  had  seen  two 
salmon  leap.  Then  he  slipped  back  into 
the  water  as  smoothly  as  if  he  had  been 
oiled. 

The  otter  was,  in  fact,  as  much  at  home 
in  the  water  as  any  fish,  except  for  his  need 
of  coming  to  the  surface  every  now  and  then 
to  breathe.  In  the  matter  of  speed,  he  was 
able  to  fairly  run  down  and  overtake  the 
slower  fish,  such  as  the  heavy,  pig-like 
sucker  and  the  fat  mud  chub;  but  now  it 
was  salmon  he  wanted,  and  he  knew  that, 
in  this  case,  he  must  call  all  his  cunning  to 
his  aid.  Taking  advantage  of  some  rocks, 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    123 

and  then  a  long  patch  of  weeds,  he  crept  up 
the  edge  of  the  pool,  making  no  disturbance 
in  the  water,  till  he  was  above  the  cluster  of 
salmon,  which  lay  all  with  their  heads  up- 
stream. Then,  singling  the  one  conspicuous 
fish  for  his  prey,  with  a  sudden,  tremen- 
dous screw-like  motion,  he  darted  into  the 
shoal. 

The  king  salmon,  as  if  warned  of  his 
deadly  selection,  had  moved  uneasily  at  the 
very  instant  of  the  otter's  rush.  He  had 
the  inestimable  advantage,  therefore,  of  being 
already  started.  Almost  bending  his  body 
double  in  the  violence  of  his  spring,  he 
shot  aside,  evading  the  doom.  But  he  did 
not  go  quite  free.  The  otter's  jaws  closed 
with  a  snap  upon  the  thick  part  of  his 
shoulder,  just  behind  the  gill-covers.  But 
they  caught  him  slantingly.  Had  he  been  a 
lesser  fish,  even  so  they  would  have  held  him. 
But  with  his  great  weight,  and  that  all 
muscle  and  electric  energy,  he  tore  himself 
free,  bearing  a  great  red  gash  in  his  side.  In 
a  flash  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  pool,  in  the 
white  smother  at  the  bottom  of  the  rapid. 
The  otter,  too  wise  to  attempt  pursuit,  doubled 
back  like  an  eel,  and  snapped  up  another 


I24    THE   LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

smaller  fish  which,  in  its  panic,  had  dashed 
almost  into  his  jaws. 

At  first  the  deeply-wounded  salmon  left  a 
trail  of  blood  behind  him.  But,  dreadful  as 
was  the  hurt,  it  seemed  to  have  no  effect 
upon  his  vigour,  and  the  icy  water  quickly 
checked  the  drain,  astringeing  the  edges  of  the 
cut  arteries.  At  first  he  was  too  startled  and 
shocked  to  choose  his  course,  and  drove  on 
upwards,  straight  through  the  smother. 
Here,  of  course,  where  the  water  was  creamed 
with  the  foam  packed  down  into  it,  and, 
therefore,  full  of  air,  there  was  less  grip  for 
the  thrust  of  his  tail  and  fins,  and  much  of 
his  power  was  wasted.  In  a  very  few  seconds, 
however,  he  took  hold  of  his  wits  again,  and 
chose  his  way  with  more  discretion. 

The  rapids  were  long,  steep,  and  much 
broken  —  a  succession  of  diagonal  ledges  and 
chutes  and  sluicing  troughs,  extending  with 
hardly  a  break  for  several  miles.  To  the 
river-men  it  was  a  place  for  portaging,  only 
passable  in  canoes,  under  certain  specially 
favourable  conditions,  and  dreaded  as  "bad 
water"  at  the  best  of  times.  The  salmon  took 
it  where  the  rush  was  strongest  but  least 
broken  — where  the  solid  sweep  of  the  current, 


THE   LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    125 

no  matter  what  its  velocity,  gave  him  the  hold 
he  wanted,  the  purchase  on  which  to  exert 
his  tremendous  thrust.  In  such  swimming  as 
this,  it  must  be  remembered,  his  mere  fins, 
in  themselves,  played  a  comparatively  small 
part,  except  the  great  fins  or  flukes  of  his 
tail.  His  whole  body,  being  one  corded 
bundle  of  muscle  and  nervous  energy,  became 
now,  for  all  practical  purposes,  but  an  exten- 
sion of  the  tail,  all  screw  and  engine  from 
flukes  to  gill-case.  If  one  had  been  looking 
down  from  straight  overhead,  so  as  to  avoid 
the  baffling  reflections  of  the  water,  one 
might  have  seen  him  go  up,  a  straight,  darting 
shadow,  through  the  most  terrific  chutes  and 
sluices  without  apparent  effort. 

But  it  took  effort,  all  the  same,  for  all  its 
appearance  of  ease.  Coming  at  length  — 
through  the  pounding  thunder,  the  choking 
smother  of  the  foam  strips,  and  the  dizzying 
confusion  of  broken,  whirling  lights  —  to  a 
sort  of  little  cauldron  under  the  lip  of  a  ledge 
in  mid-river,  he  was  glad  to  rest  for  a  while. 
Here  the  current  was  slackened  down  by  the 
depth  of  the  cauldron  and  by  the  meeting  of 
a  strong  eddy  which  cancelled  a  portion  of 
its  violence  And  here,  though  the  current 


126    THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

was  torn  and  boiling,  he  was  able  to  find  a 
nook  of  comparatively  slack  water,  and  renew 
his  strength  for  the  next  stage.  But  here 
also,  surrounded  by  the  thunder  and  the 
trampling  of  the  mighty  currents,  certain  tiny 
freshwater  parasites  had  found  precarious 
refuge.  They  hailed  with  delight  the 
arrival  of  the  great  salmon,  and  fastened 
themselves  greedily  upon  the  edges  of  his 
raw  wound.  All  unaware  of  their  presence, 
he  carried  them  with  him  when  he  pushed  out 
once  more  into  the  current  and  resumed  his 
strenuous  journey. 

Through  the  rest  of  the  rapids  the  great 
salmon  found  no  more  places  where  he  could 
halt.  There  was  no  let-up  to  the  quivering, 
determined  rushes  with  which  he  drove  his 
way  through  roaring  trough  and  rolling 
chute,  till  at  last,  worn  and  bruised,  he 
gained  the  reaches  of  tranquil  dead  water 
which  formed  the  next  stage  of  his  journey. 
In  the  first  pool  where  the  bottom  was  clean 
—  for  he  hated  mud  and  stranded  refuse  —  he 
halted,  and  hung  resting,  head  upstream 
and  fins  fanning  gently,  a  few  inches  above 
the  bright,  sandy  bottom.  And  here,  in  the 
course  of  the  next  hour  or  so,  he  was  joined 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    127 

by  the  majority  of  his  fellows  whom  he  had 
quitted  so  abruptly  in  the  lower  pool.  They 
were  all  too  tired  for  play,  and  they  had  no 
inclination  to  feed,  being  seldom  hungry  on 
their  return  to  fresh  water;  so  they  all  lay 
side  by  side  in  the  quiet  pool,  as  sluggish  as 
so  many  fat  suckers. 

That  night  was  still  and  moonless,  with 
large  stars  and  a  blue-black  sky  reflected  in 
the  long  reaches  of  unruffled  water.  At 
times  a  pale  winged  moth  would  drop  on 
the  glassy  surface,  and  disturb  it  a  little 
with  its  feeble  fluttering.  Presently  a  big 
brook  trout  would  rise  lazily  and  suck  the 
insect  in  with  an  oily  gurgle,  or  slap  it  under 
with  a  loud,  contemptuous  flop  of  the  tail 
before  condescending  to  mouth  and  swallow 
it.  But  the  salmon  paid  no  attention  either 
to  moths  or  trout.  For  some  unknown 
reason  —  weariness  after  the  ascent  of  the 
rapids  hardly  seemed  enough  to  account  for 
it  —  it  was  not  their  custom  to  rise  or  jump 
while  sojourning  in  this  pool;  and  the 
salmon  seems  to  be  a  great  stickler  for 
custom. 

By  and  by  there  came  a  strange,  lurid 
glare  striking  down  through  the  water  and 


128    THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

illuminating  the  pool  in  a  confused,  distorted 
fashion.  Never  before  had  the  salmon  seen 
such  a  light  suffusing  the  waters,  even  under 
the  rosiest  sunrises  of  their  ocean  home. 
This  light  was  near,  and  violent,  and  of  a 
smoky  orange,  and  it  threw  black,  twisting 
shadows.  They  all  turned  their  eyes  upward, 
and  swam  slowly  towards  it,  disquieted  but 
fascinated.  Behind  the  glare,  which  was 
moving  very  slowly  upstream,  came  a  long, 
narrow,  dark  shape,  which  at  every  other 
second  or  two  made  a  deep  swirl  in  the  water 
near  its  hinder  end.  These  fresh-run  fish 
had  never  before  seen  a  canoe,  and  in  the 
sea  they  had  learned  to  distrust  all  long,  dark, 
moving  shapes.  But  they  were  too  much 
hypnotized  just  now  by  that  mysterious 
glare  to  have  any  thought  of  danger. 

In  the  canoe  there  were  two  men,  squatters, 
and  incidentally,  during  the  run  of  the 
salmon,  poachers.  Owning  —  by  mere  right 
of  occupation,  to  be  sure  —  two  little  newly- 
cleared  farms  on  the  bank  of  the  stream 
near  by,  they  held  obstinately  that  they  had 
a  right  to  all  the  fish  they  wanted  out  of 
these  waters,  lease  or  no  lease,  Government 
or  no  Government.  And  they  held  with 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    129 

equal  obstinacy  that  they  had  a  right  to  take 
them  in  any  way  they  found  convenient,  law 
or  no  law.  So,  chancing  to  know  that  the 
warden  of  that  section  was  twenty  miles 
away  upstream,  they  had  come  out  for  a 
little  of  that  strictly  prohibited  sport,  salmon- 
spearing  by  torchlight. 

The  man  kneeling  in  the  stern  of  the 
canoe  wielded  his  short,  broad-bladed  maple 
paddle  very  subtly,  so  as  not  to  jar  the  water 
by  any  splashing  or  concussion.  The  man 
in  the  bow  stood  behind  the  flaring  torch  of 
rolled  birch-bark,  his  eyes  shaded  from  the 
glare  by  the  brim  of  his  slouch  hat,  his  knees 
slightly  bent  for  balance  and  for  readiness, 
and  his  long  two-pronged  salmon  spear  held 
poised  over  the  side.  It  was  really  more  of 
a  fork  than  a  spear,  this  weapon,  the  two 
prongs  being  of  springy  ash,  and  barbed, 
with  a  long  slender  point  of  steel  between 
them,  and  so  disguised  that,  when  the  prongs 
should  be  driven  down  on  the  victim's  back 
with  sufficient  strength,  they  would  be  forced 
apart,  to  enclose  and  grip  the  writhing  body 
while  the  steel  transfixed  its  spine. 

Among  the  fish  drawn  up  to  his  dazzling 
lure,  the  man  in  the  bow  marked  the  great 


I3o    THE   LEADER  OF  THE   RUN 

leader,  a  foot  longer  than  any  of  its  fellows, 
and  his  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  eagerness. 
The  spear  shaft  rose  erect  in  his  tense  grip, 
his  knees  bent,  and  his  whole  body  assumed 
the  lines  of  a  beast  about  to  spring.  The 
immense  fish  came  almost  under  the  canoe. 
The  spear  darted  downwards,  the  man 
seeming  to  throw  his  whole  weight  upon  it, 
yet  without  losing  his  balance  or  too  violently 
rocking  the  light  craft  under  his  feet.  The 
next  instant  he  recovered  himself  with  a  loud 
grunt,  and  stood  erect,  cursing  eloquently 
through  clenched  teeth,  and  glaring  at  his 
spear  as  if  he  would  make  kindling  wood  of 
it.  He  had  missed  his  stroke,  and  he  the 
most  expert  spear  sman  on  the  river.  He 
couldn't  understand  it.  His  comrade  in  the 
stern  looked  at  him  with  quizzical  surprise. 

"Best  git  down  to  Fredericton,  an'  buy 
yerself  a  pair  o'  specs,  Bill,"  he  suggested 
amiably. 

Bill  told  him  earnestly  of  another  place, 
where  he  could  go  to,  warmer  than  Frederic- 
ton.  And  the  canoe  was  allowed  to  drift 
away,  that  the  occupants  of  the  pool  might 
get  over  their  alarm  and  settle  down. 

The    cause    of    the    spear  sman 's    discomfiture 


THE   LEADER  OF  THE   RUN    131 

was  this.  The  big  salmon  was  not  tranquil, 
like  his  companions.  He  was  fretted  by  his 
wound,  which  was  sapping  his  strength. 
Other  greedy  parasites  had  fastened  upon  it, 
and  they  caused  a  burning  fever,  which  set 
his  nerves  all  on  edge.  Attracted  by  the 
glare  of  the  torch,  he  came  at  it  with  a  rest- 
less eagerness.  He  knew  not  why,  but  he 
wanted  it,  and  he  wanted  it  at  once.  When 
he  found  another  fish,  as  he  imagined,  barring 
his  way,  he  flew  into  a  most  unsalmonly  rage, 
and  darted  at  the  intruder,  to  root  him  aside 
with  his  horny,  projecting  lower  jaw.  That 
ill-tempered  rush  it  was  that  saved  him,  for 
at  that  same  instant  the  man  in  the  canoe 
had  made  his  lunge  with  the  deadly  fish-spear. 
The  salmon  felt  a  numbing  blow  near  his  tail, 
where  one  of  the  prongs  struck  him  and 
ploughed  another  deep  gash.  Startled,  and 
quite  cured  of  his  infatuation  for  the  fatal 
flame,  he  tore  away  upstream,  and  never 
paused  till  he  had  put  several  miles  between 
himself  and  this  inexplicable  experience. 

He  felt  himself  now  astonishingly  weary, 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  short  though 
violent  run  which  he  had  just  made.  He  did 
not  understand  how  the  old  wound,  with  its 


132    THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

gnawing  parasites,  and  the  new  wound,  with 
its  shock  and  loss  of  blood,  were  draining  his 
forces.  But  just  because  his  vitality  was 
being  so  sapped,  Nature,  ever  careful  for  the 
continuance  of  the  species,  was  urging  him 
on  all  the  more  fiercely  toward  the  breeding- 
grounds  at  the  head  of  the  river.  Tired 
though  he  was,  after  a  few  minutes'  halt,  he 
continued  his  journey,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
run  as  far  behind  in  the  feverishness  of  his 
haste. 

All  that  night  he  travelled,  and  on  into 
the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  and  came 
at  length  to  the  great  basin  at  the  foot  of 
the  falls.  Here,  at  any  other  time,  he  would 
have  halted  long  enough  to  thoroughly 
refresh  himself  before  attempting  the  difficult 
leap.  These  falls  were  by  far  the  most 
troublesome  obstacle  on  the  whole  river  —  a 
barrier  so  effective  indeed  that  none  but 
the  most  vigorous  and  dauntless  fish  of  the 
run  ever  succeeded  in  passing  it.  But  the 
wounded  salmon  was  too  driven  by  the  urge 
of  his  fevered  blood  to  take  any  time  for 
recuperation.  From  the  middle  of  the  basin 
he  thrust  head  and  shoulders  once  above 
water,  as  if  to  reconnoitre  the  roaring  wall  of 


THE   LEADER  OF  THE   RUN    133 

white  and  amber  before  him.  Then,  with  a 
tremendous  rush,  he  threw  himself  some  eight 
or  ten  feet  clean  into  the  air,  struck  the  face 
of  the  cataract  several  feet  from  its  crest, 
and,  with  that  mighty  screw-like  thrust  of 
tail  and  body,  shot  straight  on  upward 
through  the  perpendicular  column  of  water. 
But  he  had  miscalculated  his  strength.  Under 
the  very  lip  of  the  fall,  where  the  downward 
rush  was  of  clear  topaz,  and  so  swift  as  to 
seem  almost  at  rest,  he  faltered.  The  next 
instant,  he  was  hurled  back  and  trampled 
down  through  the  smother  to  the  boiling 
bottom  of  the  basin. 

Half  stunned,  he  made  his  way  to  the  deep, 
still  water  at  one  side  of  the  pool,  and  lay 
quietly  under  the  ledge,  seeking  to  recover 
his  strength.  But  he  could  not  rest  effectually 
by  reason  of  the  ache  of  his  wounds,  the  fret 
of  the  greedy  freshwater  parasites,  and  that 
insistent  fever  in  his  blood.  When  the  doom 
of  the  wild  has  once  snatched  at  its  prey, 
and,  in  part,  missed  its  grip,  the  unhappy 
victim  seems  marked  for  every  stroke  of  Fate. 
So,  long  before  the  great  salmon  was 
sufficiently  recovered  to  properly  renew  his 
venture,  the  sting  within  him  urged  him 


134    THE   LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

forth  again.  Once  more  he  lifted  head  and 
shoulders  above  water,  from  the  centre  of 
the  basin,  and  eyed  the  cataract  through  the 
rainbow  spanning  it,  to  assure  himself  that 
he  had  chosen  the  best  path.  As  he  did 
so,  he  saw  a  smaller  fish  flash  up  into  the 
sunlight,  shine  for  a  moment  like  a  crescent 
of  burnished  silver  against  the  creamy  front 
of  the  fall,  take  the  clear  flood  of  solid  amber 
above  the  foam  with  strong  precision,  and 
dart  triumphantly  on  over  the  gleaming 

UP. 

The  sight  was  too  much  for  his  prudence. 
With  a  splendid  rage,  he  rushed  forward  to 
the  foot  of  the  fall,  and  hurled  himself  into 
the  air  through  the  iridescent  quivering  of 
the  light  and  the  whipping  shreds  of  the 
spray. 

It  was  a  superb  leap,  two  feet  further  than 
he  had  made  in  his  first  attempt,  and  a  good 
foot  beyond  the  mark  of  his  triumphant 
predecessor.  But,  alas,  it  was  a  blind  leap, 
and  it  went  untrue  because  of  that  wound  at 
the  base  of  his  tail.  He  struck  the  base  of 
the  fall  to  one  side  of  the  amber  column, 
where  the  sheet  of  water  was  too  thin  and 
broken  to  give  him  any  hold.  Convulsively 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    135 

he  thrust  and  lashed,  but  the  treacherous 
element  yielded  instead  of  giving  him  the 
firm  resistance  which  he  required.  He  was 
swept  aside,  jammed  against  a  projecting  horn 
of  rock,  and  dashed  once  more  to  the  bottom. 

This  time  he  was  not  half,  but  completely, 
stunned.  For  some  seconds,  unresisting  as 
a  clod,  he  was  rolled  over  and  trampled 
upon  by  the  falling  flood.  Then  the  uprush 
carried  him  clear,  and  he  went  drifting  with 
the  slow  swirls,  belly  upward,  across  the 
sunlit  basin.  Presently  he  came  a  little  to  his 
senses,  righted  himself,  and  with  a  feeble 
stroke  of  his  tail  made  toward  the  quieter 
water  inshore.  Dimly  he  felt  that  he  must 
recover  himself  as  quickly  as  possible  for 
another  effort.  Dimly  the  vision  of  those  far 
spawning-beds  of  white  gravel,  bathed  with 
icy  springs,  kept  luring  him  through  the 
darkness  of  his  stupor. 

He  should  have  sought  deep  water  for 
security;  but  just  now  his  senses  were  so 
gone  astray  that  instinct  itself  failed  him, 
his  doom  being  upon  him.  He  swam  blindly 
and  feebly  straight  ahead,  found  the  water 
getting  shoal,  turned  irresolutely,  and  all 
at  once  felt  a  clutching  weight  fasten  itself 


136    THE   LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

upon  his  back,  and  keen  teeth  burning  deep 
into  the  base  of  his  brain. 

With  a  mighty  convulsion  he  threw  off  his 
assailant,  but  the  effort  spent  the  last  of 
his  force.  The  same  convulsion  threw  him 
forward  into  the  shallows.  With  a  heavy, 
splashing  flop  he  lay  over  on  his  side,  half 
out  of  the  water,  the  angry  gash  in  his  shoul- 
der turned  up  to  the  sun.  The  next  moment 
his  assailant  —  a  slim,  dark-brown  mink,  with 
pointed  muzzle  and  bright,  savage  eyes  —  was 
upon  him  again,  and  tearing  at  his  throat. 
But  he  lay  quivering,  and  knew  nothing  of  it. 

The  mink,  presently  satisfied  that  his  prey 
was  quite  dead,  strove  to  drag  the  body 
ashore.  Here  on  the  open  beach,  in  the  full 
sun,  it  was  impossible  to  make  his  meal 
with  comfort.  He  did  not  like  being  so 
conspicuously  in  the  public  eye.  He  was  a 
marvel  of  strength,  to  be  sure,  for  his  size 
and  weight,  his  lithe  body  a  mere  bundle 
of  whipcord  muscles.  But  the  dead  salmon 
was  heavy.  Tugging  doggedly,  he  succeeded 
in  dragging  it,  by  jerks,  fairly  clear  of  the 
water.  But  to  get  it  up  the  beach  and 
under  the  shadow  of  the  bushes  was  quite 
beyond  his  present  powers.  Wisely  he  set 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    137 

himself  to  the  task  of  reducing  its  weight, 
and  at  the  same  time  refreshing  his  energy, 
by  eating  as  much  of  it  as  possible,  all  the 
while  keeping  a  furtive,  malignant  eye  upon 
the  thickets,  lest  some  bear  or  lynx  should 
appear  to  snatch  the  prize  from  his  jaws. 

High  overhead,  in  the  unclouded  blue,  a 
dark  shape  was  wheeling  slowly,  peering 
down  upon  earth  with  hard,  glassy  eyes 
of  black  and  gold.  That  slow  wheeling  on 
motionless  wings  came  to  a  stop.  The 
splendid  spread  of  pinion  drew  together,  the 
gleaming  white  head  and  dark  wing-elbows 
pitched  grandly  forward,  and  the  huge  bird 
dropped  from  heaven  like  a  wedge.  The 
wind  hissed  in  the  tense  web  of  his  feathers. 

At  the  sound  of  that  strident  hissing,  the 
mink  looked  up  with  a  snarl  of  defiance. 
He  made  the  mistake,  for  a  fraction  of  a 
second,  of  thinking  he  had  to  do  with  a 
hawk;  and  in  defence  of  his  lawful  booty 
he  was  prepared,  being  a  dauntless  little 
marauder,  to  make  stand  against  any  hawk. 
Too  late  he  saw  his  error.  With  a  cry  of 
rage,  he  bent  himself  double  and  sprang 
back.  But  he  seemed  to  spring  straight  up 
into  the  eagle's  talons. 


138    THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN 

Game  to  the  last  gasp,  he  bit  vainly  into 
the  hard,  thick-feathered  thigh  above  him. 
He  got  but  a  mouthful  of  fluff.  Then  the 
talons  of  steel  contracted  inexorably,  and 
the  life  passed  out  of  him  with  a  whimpering 
gasp.  The  splendid  bird  opened  his  claws 
and  tossed  the  limp  brown  body  aside, 
scorning  to  feed  upon  such  rank  and  stringy 
flesh. 

With  lifted  wings  he  alighted  beside  the 
salmon,  one  foot  planted  arrogantly  upon  it  in 
sign  that  it  was  his.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
stared  about  him,  his  piercing,  implacable 
eyes  seeming  to  challenge  any  one  who  might 
care  to  question  his  claim  to  the  booty.  As 
no  one  came,  he  presently  fell  to  his  meal, 
tearing  the  delicate  flesh  with  his  beak  and 
gulping  it  in  big  mouthfuls.  From  time  to 
time  he  would  raise  his  beautiful,  savage 
white  head,  now  streaked  with  blood,  and 
gaze  curiously  at  the  sudden  silver  crescent 
of  some  salmon  leaping  the  falls.  To  him 
this  seemed  a  useless  and  inexplicable  per- 
formance. When  he  had  devoured  a  good 
half  of  the  prize,  he  clutched  the  remnant 
in  his  talons,  rose  into  the  air  with  a 
laborious  flapping,  and  flew  off,  over  the 


THE  LEADER  OF  THE  RUN    139 

white  roar  of  the  falls  and  the  dark  masses 
of  the  hemlock  forest  beyond,  to  the  lonely 
granite  peak  in  whose  cleft  summit  he  had 
his  eyrie. 


With    His    Back    to    the    Wall 

IT  was  a  savage  winter,  the  cruellest  he  had 
ever  known;  and,  for  a  bear,  he  had 
known  a  good  many.  It  had  begun  early, 
with  frosts  that  bit  to  the  bone,  and  cracked 
the  trees  surprised  with  too  much  sap  yet  in 
their  branches,  and  sealed  away  the  moist 
earth,  with  its  grubs  and  roots  and  tubers, 
under  an  armour-plating  of  steel.  Then  had 
come  storm  on  storm,  with  no  assuaging  of 
the  frost,  with  hard,  dry  snow  like  white  sand, 
which  drove  blindingly  and  would  not  pack, 
and  gathered  so  deep  that  even  the  long- 
legged,  snow-shoe-hoofed  moose  floundered 
in  it  belly  deep.  Even  the  depths  of  the 
ancient  fir  forests  afforded  scant  shelter  from 
the  fury  of  the  blizzards,  whose  cold  ate  its 
way  to  the  heart  of  the  densest  thickets  and 
froze  the  starving  wild-cats  in  their  lairs. 

In     his     amiable     and     comfortable     youth, 
the  great  black  bear  had  been  wont   to  keep 

140 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    141 

in  mind  his  mother's  lesson,  and  "hole  up" 
for  the  winter.  Well  stuffed  with  blue- 
berries and  other  autumn  fruits,  with  honey, 
and  starchy  roots,  and  all  the  plump  and 
teeming  small  fry  of  late  summer,  his  store 
of  fat  had  always  made  him  grow  drowsy  at 
the  approach  of  the  cold,  and,  in  some  deep 
hollow  under  rock  or  pine-root,  he  had 
curled  up  to  sleep  and  let  the  great  snows 
cover  him  away  till  spring.  But  growing 
restless  and  morose  with  age,  and  more 
addicted  to  flesh  blood  than  to  the  bloodless 
diet  of  his  youth,  he  had  lost  the  happy 
knack  of  hibernating.  While  the  females 
and  the  sleek  young  males  of  his  kindred 
were  sleeping  away  the  bitter,  inimical  months 
of  storm,  he  was  roaming  the  desolation 
restlessly,  wide  awake  with  hunger,  hunting 
with  all  his  craft,  and  capturing  barely 
enough  of  the  long-legged  rabbits  to  keep 
an  ounce  of  flesh  on  his  gaunt  flanks. 

About  mid-February,  when  all  the  pred- 
atory beasts  native  to  the  range  —  bears, 
lynxes,  foxes,  fishers,  and  sables  —  were  already 
in  the  grip  of  famine,  there  came  a  rush  of 
ravenous  new  claimants  upon  the  game. 
Sweeping  down  out  of  the  north  in  packs 


142    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

came  the  great  grey  timber  wolves,  which 
for  the  last  half-century  had  been  no  more 
than  a  tradition  in  this  corner  of  the  world. 
Since  his  cubhood  the  old  black  bear  had 
never  known  what  it  was  to  be  afraid;  but 
now,  when  he  heard  that  wailing  and  terrible 
pack-cry  quavering  over  the  snow,  under  the 
still  moon,  his  heart  quailed.  And  when, 
chancing  upon  the  trail  of  one  of  the  packs, 
he  noted  the  number  of  the  alien  footprints, 
the  hair  rose  stiffly  along  his  neck  with 
dread  and  fierce  aversion.  He  felt  that  he 
could  handle  half  a  dozen  at  a  time  of  these 
pale-eyed,  ravaging  intruders,  and  therefore 
he  concluded  that  they  would  hardly  presume 
to  seek  a  quarrel  with  himself.  But  he 
decided  that  it  would  be  prudent  for  him 
to  avoid  crossing  their  trail. 

The  chosen  resort  of  the  bear  was  a 
spacious  stretch  of  the  fir  forest,  where  the 
dense  coverts  favoured  his  stalking  and 
afforded  some  poor  shelter  from  the  wind. 
But  one  day,  in  savage  disgust  over  the 
scarcity  of  anything  to  stalk,  he  started  out 
across  a  reach  of  barrens  to  try  his  luck  in 
the  broken  country  of  mixed  woods  along 
the  fringe  of  the  uplands.  The  barrens  were 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    143 

flat  and  open,  but  dotted  with  innumerable 
clumps  of  bush'  growth,  wherein  he  felt  that 
he  might  find  grouse  squatting,  or  big  snow- 
shoe  rabbits  nibbling  at  the  poplar  twigs. 
Far  across  the  open  he  could  make  out  a 
black  upthrust  of  rock,  with  a  tumble  of 
boulders  trailing  off  to  one  side,  and  toward 
this  he  directed  his  course,  with  the  idea 
that  its  recesses  might  hold  some  likely  den, 
more  impervious  to  the  wind  than  his  fir 
thickets.  If  the  den  should  prove  to  be 
already  occupied,  so  much  the  better.  That 
would  mean  for  him  a  lair  and  a  stocked 
larder,  all  in  one. 

Out  across  the  grey-white  levels,  under 
the  low  arch  of  blank,  whitish  sky,  he 
laboured  slowly,  his  black  bulk  sharply  con- 
spicuous as  he  went.  The  plains,  in  their 
savage,  white  desolation,  had  the  suggestion 
of  naked  granite,  their  scattered  and  half- 
buried  thickets  showing  here  and  there  thin 
lines  and  blotches  and  tips  of  dark  grey. 
A  wide-winged  white  hawk-owl,  swooping  low 
over  the  drift-wrinkles,  followed  the  trail  of 
a  weasel  which  was  itself  hungrily  trailing  a 
panic-stricken  mouse.  Hunger,  desperation,  and 
the  implacable  cold  possessed  the  scene. 


144    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

For  some  little  time,  as  he  moved  across 
the  emptiness,  the  bear  had  been  vaguely 
conscious  of  a  far-off,  wavering  pack-cry  in 
his  ears.  Intent  upon  his  own  needs,  he  had 
paid  no  attention  to  it,  beyond  vaguely  but 
angrily  envying  the  hunters  the  quarry  that 
they  hunted  —  a  caribou,  perhaps,  or  a  giant 
bull-moose,  which  would  give  them  a  long 
chase,  indeed,  but  a  satisfying  meal  at  the 
end  of  it.  He  plodded  on,  his  hungry  eyes 
searching  the  snow.  At  last  he  came  upon 
the  fresh  tracks  of  a  rabbit,  leading  toward 
a  deeply-buried  thicket  some  hundred  yards 
to  the  right.  His  faculties  sharpened  to 
their  utmost,  he  crouched  flat  till  he  was 
almost  out  of  sight  in  the  deep  snow,  and 
began  to  worm  his  way  noiselessly  along  the 
trail.  It  was  amazing  how  small  and  incon- 
spicuous he  managed  to  make  himself. 

But  now,  his  faculties  being  all  at  once  so 
keenly  awake,  he  became  conscious  of  an 
unusual  note  in  that  many-throated  cry  far 
behind  him.  It  was  not  quite  the  same  as 
when  the  pack  followed  easy  quarry.  There 
was  a  ring  of  hate  in  it,  a  deadly  challenge 
and  defiance.  Moreover,  it  was  nearer  at 
hand;  it  was  undoubtedly  approaching. 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    145 

Suddenly  the  bear  stood  up  straight  in  his 
tracks,  and  with  a  low  growl  stared  behind 
him.  His  heart  gave  a  bound  of  rage,  and 
then  for  an  instant  stood  still.  It  was  he 
himself,  this  time,  that  was  the  quarry. 

For  several  seconds,  being  a  fighter  to  the 
last  claw,  he  contemplated  holding  his  ground 
and  giving  battle  where  he  was  to  the 
insolent  invaders  of  his  range.  He  even 
glanced  around  at  the  thicket  wherein  the 
rabbit  lay  hidden,  thinking,  perhaps,  to 
capture  it  and  ease  his  hunger  before  the 
wailing  pack  should  come  up.  But  just  then 
he  caught  sight  of  the  pack  emerging  from 
the  edge  of  the  fir  forest  and  sweeping  down 
along  his  trail  without  an  instant's  hesitation. 
What  a  horde  they  were  !  The  sight  decided 
him.  He  would  be  surrounded,  and  would 
have  no  chance  to  put  up  a  fight.  He  turned 
once  more  and  started  at  a  long,  rolling  gallop 
for  that  up  thrust  of  rock.  If  he  could  reach 
it,  he  could  there  find  some  vantage  ground 
and  fight  a  less  uneven  battle. 

In  spite  of  his  bulk  and  his  look  of  heavi- 
ness, the  bear's  pace  was  swift.  His  great 
strength  enabled  him  to  overcome,  for  a  time, 
the  cumbering  softness  of  the  snow,  which, 


146    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

indeed,  hampered  his  pursuers  as  sorely  as 
himself.  Gaunt  and  hard,  his  wind  was  good, 
and  his  will  to  gain  the  rock  was  invincible. 
The  pack,  running  now  in  a  grim  silence 
that  was  more  menacing  even  than  their 
marrow-chilling  chorus,  came  up  rapidly,  but 
the  start  of  the  fugitive  had  been  sufficient. 
They  were  within  two  score  paces  of  him 
when  he  reached  the  rock. 

The  face  of  the  rock  at  this  point  was 
perpendicular  and  absolutely  smooth.  Even 
for  the  bear,  an  expert  climber,  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  scaling  it.  But  it  gave  him 
what  he  was  looking  for  above  all  —  the 
guarantee  against  being  overwhelmed  from 
behind.  He  wheeled  like  a  flash,  thrust  his 
back  against  the  rock,  rose  to  a  squatting 
posture  of  contained  readiness,  lifted  both  his 
armed  fore-paws,  and  faced  his  pursuers  in 
silence,  with  lips  curled  back  from  his  yellow 
fangs,  and  his  little  deep-set  eyes  flaming 
blue-green. 

The  wolves,  digging  their  fore-feet  deep 
into  the  snow,  brought  up  short  at  a  distance 
of  less  than  a  dozen  feet.  This  was  a  quarry 
such  as  they  had  never  hunted  before.  They 
spread  themselves  out  in  a  half-circle  before 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    147 

him,  some  prowling  restlessly  back  and 
forth,  some  sitting  up  on  their  haunches,  but 
all  keeping  their  dreadful  eyes  centred  upon 
him.  Their  leader,  a  little  to  the  front,  stood 
considering;  and  the  bear,  swinging  his  great 
head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  waited. 


II 

DREADFUL  as  was  that  winter  to  all  the 
wild  kindreds  of  the  forest,  to  Job  Thatch, 
the  trapper,  in  his  half-buried  cabin  behind 
the  upthrust  of  rock,  its  menace,  at  the  first, 
was  of  small  concern.  His  cabin  was  snug, 
he  had  abundant  firewood  stacked  about  it, 
and  he  had  "packed"  in  from  the  settle- 
ments a  certain  amount  of  flour,  bacon,  tea, 
and  molasses,  to  supplement  the  fresh  meat 
which  his  rifle  could  be  counted  on  to 
provide  him.  The  growing  scarcity  of  game 
mattered  less  to  him  than  to  any  other 
foragers  of  the  wilderness,  for  none  of  the 
furred  four-footed  hunters  could  compare 
with  him  in  efficiency  at  their  own  craft. 
In  all  but  the  sense  of  smell,  he  was  a  better 
hunting  animal  than  the  best  of  them.  He 
could  hear  as  well  as  the  listening  moose. 


148    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

He  could  see  as  far  as  the  lynx,  and  with  a 
more  discriminating  vision.  On  his  snow- 
shoes  he  could  run  lightly  and  tirelessly 
when  they  floundered  in  the  drifts,  and  with 
his  rifle  he  could  kill  at  such  a  distance  that 
the  wariest  quarry  whose  trail  he  followed 
had  no  warning  of  his  pursuit  till  the 
soft-nose  bullet  dropped  it  in  its  tracks. 
Recognizing  this  supremacy,  many  of  the 
lesser  prowlers,  in  spite  of  their  fear  and 
hate  of  him,  took  to  following  him  secretly 
that  they  might  feast  upon  the  remnants  of 
his  kills. 

But  the  price  of  Job  Thatch's  confident 
efficiency  was  that  he  never  thought  to 
provide  himself  against  ill-chance.  He 
killed  for  fresh  meat  only  as  the  need  arose, 
and  only  such  game  as  came  his  way  while 
making  the  daily  round  of  his  wide-lying 
traps.  And  so,  when  the  ill-chance  befell 
him,  laying  him  up  a  prisoner  in  his  cabin, 
he  had  only  the  last  scant  half  of  a  haunch 
of  caribou  and  a  brace  of  skinny  rabbits  in 
his  primitive  cold  storage. 

And  this  was  the  way  in  which  the  sombre 
powers  of  the  wild,  over  which  he  had  always 
imagined  himself  so  securely  master,  turned 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    149 

suddenly  upon  him,  and  smote  him  down. 
While  running  lightly  over  the  snow  along 
the  edge  of  a  gully,  a  buried  sliver  caught 
at  his  snow-shoe  and  threw  him.  With  a 
twisting  jerk,  he  went  headlong  down  the 
petty  steep.  As  he  fell,  a  pang  of  horror 
and  anguish  went  through  him,  and  he 
heard  the  bone  of  his  right  leg  go  with  a 
dull,  sickening  snap. 

For  a  second  or  two  it  seemed  to  him  that 
this  was  the  end.  He  knew  so  well  just 
what  it  meant,  for  he  knew  so  well  the 
implacable  powers  of  the  wild  which  had 
thus  turned  upon  him  and  got  him  at 
so  hopeless  a  disadvantage.  The  shooting 
anguish  for  a  moment  numbed  his  will,  and 
it  seemed  to  him  best  to  lie  where  he  was 
and  let  the  deadly  cold  do  its  work  as  quickly 
as  possible.  With  the  temperature  at  the 
point  where  the  mercury  grows  solid  in  the 
bulb,  it  would  not  be  long  before  the  anguish 
would  pass  softly  and  he  would  slip  into  the 
endless  sleep. 

Then  his  brain  cleared,  and  the  old 
mastery  awoke  in  his  will.  The  White 
Death  which  he  had  so  long  and  confidently 
foiled  should  not  fool  him  and  finish  him 


ISO    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

now.  The  furred  prowlers  whom  he  had 
hunted  and  trapped  should  not  now  come 
feasting  upon  his  flesh  and  pulling  his  bones 
apart.  By  sheer  resolve  he  sent  the  blood 
surging  once  more  valiantly  through  his 
veins,  and  laughed  out  loud,  hoarsely,  at  the 
anguish  in  his  leg.  Then  he  set  himself  to 
drag  his  way  back  to  the  cabin. 

First,  he  had  to  go  directly  away  from  it, 
seeking  the  mouth  of  the  ravine,  whose 
steep  sides  he  was  quite  unable  to  scale. 
His  snow-shoes  he  used  now  on  his  hands 
instead  of  on  his  feet,  beating  himself  down 
a  track  by  which  to  worm  his  way  slowly 
along.  It  was  a  battle,  every  inch,  but  his 
will  was  unfaltering,  his  wind  like  a  wolf's, 
and  his  muscles  as  untiring  as  the  corded 
sinews  of  a  weasel.  The  frost  sank  down 
and  closed  in  upon  him  in  vain,  for  his 
struggle  kept  him  in  a  glow,  and  the  grind 
of  the  broken  bone  at  every  movement  kept 
stabbing  him  to  a  fury  of  effort.  And  after 
seven  hours  of  this  gigantic  wrestle  against 
death,  he  gained  the  door  of  his  cabin, 
lifted  himself  on  the  snow-shoes,  as  crutches, 
to  pull  the  latch-string,  and  fell  across  the 
threshold. 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    151 

Now,  for  a  moment,  having  won,  he  stood 
to  lose  all.  Drunk  with  exhaustion,  he  told 
himself  he  was  safe,  and  was  just  falling 
asleep  with  the  door  half  open.  Had  he 
done  so,  the  fire  would  soon  have  died,  the 
White  Death  would  have  crept  in  upon  him 
where  he  lay,  and  afterwards  would  have 
come  the  prowlers  to  the  unlooked-for  feast. 
But  something  cried  out  a  sharp  warning  in 
the  depths  of  his  brain,  and  he  woke  up. 
He  shut  the  door,  piled  wood  upon  the  coals 
in  the  stove,  saw  the  fire  well  alight,  closed 
the  draught,  and  then  slept  for  an  hour  on 
the  floor.  When  he  woke  up,  he  brewed 
himself  a  kettle  of  strong  tea,  and  felt  that 
he  was  once  more  master  of  his  fate. 

His  immediate  fear  was  that,  if  the  broken 
leg  were  not  set,  he  would  be  for  the  rest  of  his 
life  a  cripple.  It  was  little  enough  he  knew 
about  surgery,  but  the  competent  woods- 
man is  nothing  if  not  versatile.  Summoning 
up  to  his  aid  every  fragment  of  memory 
or  knowledge  or  suggestion  or  hearsay  on 
the  subject  of  broken  bones  —  and  he  found 
there  were  a  good  many  such  fragments 
scattered  through  his  brain  —  he  proceeded 
to  make  himself  a  set  of  rude  splints  from 


152    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

the  bark  and  light  wood  which  he  kept  for 
kindling  his  fire.  Then,  tying  the  foot  of 
the  broken  leg  solidly  to  one  post  of  his 
bunk,  he  laid  the  splints  and  lashings  loosely 
in  place  about  it,  and  proceeded  to  pull  the 
ends  of  the  fracture  into  place.  It  took  a 
huge  effort.  At  the  agony  of  it  the  sweat 
jumped  out  upon  his  grey-white  forehead, 
and  the  breath  hissed  between  his  set  teeth. 
At  last,  with  a  nauseating,  muffled  click,  the 
ends  came  into  place.  With  iron  resolution 
he  tightened  the  splints  and  lashed  them  so 
there  could  be  no  slipping.  Then,  for  a 
little  while,  consciousness  went  from  him. 

For  a  week  or  two  the  prisoner  had  nothing 
more  to  trouble  about  than  the  fierce,  shooting 
pains  in  his  leg-bone,  the  slow  laboriousness 
of  wriggling  himself  about  the  cabin  with- 
out disturbing  the  splints,  and  the  deadly 
monotony  of  this  still,  restricted  life  when 
his  veins  throbbed  with  energy.  He  had  all 
the  time  there  was,  and  in  his  horror  at  the 
thought  of  going  through  life  with  a  useless 
limb  it  seemed  to  him  a  small  thing  to  occupy 
two  hours  in  getting  four  sticks  of  wood  into 
the  stove. 

But   all    the   while   he   had   to   eat,    and   he 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    153 

found  his  appetite  not  greatly  affected  by  his 
strenuous  inactivity.  When  his  tiny  store 
of  fresh  meat  was  all  gone,  for  a  few  days 
he  fared  well  enough  on  his  bacon  and  flour 
cakes.  Then,  with  a  shock  that  was  almost 
panic,  he  realized  that  his  supply  of  these 
was  shrinking  with  dreadful  rapidity. 

Straightway  he  put  himself  on  strictly 
limited  rations.  Then  he  calculated  how 
many  weeks  he  had  provision  for.  His  heart 
went  chasing  the  thermometer  into  the  depths 
as  he  realized  that  he  had  not  more  than 
enough  to  keep  the  life  shivering  in  his  body 
for  a  matter  of  three  weeks  and  two  or  three 
days.  He  had  no  idea  how  long  it  would 
take  his  leg  to  get  well,  but  he  felt  very  sure 
that  three  weeks  and  three  days  would  not 
suffice  for  the  cure. 

Here  was  the  Silent  Adversary  at  him 
again,  and  this  time  not  with  the  rush  and 
thrust  of  assault,  but  with  the  slow  siege  and 
implacable  patience  which  he  recognized  as 
the  more  dangerous  form  of  attack.  He  was 
not  daunted,  but  he  began  to  feel  that  he 
had  his  back  to  the  wall. 

It  was  happy  for  him  that  his  supply  of 
fuel  was  practically  inexhaustible,  for  he  now 


154    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

burned  it  recklessly,  lying  in  the  open  door- 
way with  his  rifle  till  almost  frozen,  in  the 
hope  of  some  deer  or  caribou  passing  within 
range.  After  days  of  disappointment  in  this 
hope,  he  ventured  to  writhe  himself  forth 
into  the  snow,  and  with  almost  inconceivable 
labour  set  a  few  traps  behind  the  cabin.  But, 
for  all  his  woodcraft,  he  was  unable  to  quite 
cover  his  hopelessly  unwieldy  trail,  and  all 
the  wild  things,  timely  warned,  made  a  mock 
of  such  futile  snares.  One  rabbit  only  was 
his  catch  in  two  weeks'  trapping,  and  that 
he  was  barely  in  time  to  save  from  the  jaws 
of  a  hungry  wolverine. 

Presently  it  was  borne  hi  upon  him  that 
there  was  a  special  reason,  outside  the 
severity  of  the  winter,  for  this  unwonted 
scarcity  of  game.  Understanding  came  to 
him  when  there  was  borne  to  his  ears,  across 
the  stupendous  stillness  of  the  moonlit  night, 
that  long,  high,  quavering  chorus  which  he 
had  not  heard  since  the  days  when  he  did 
his  trapping  on  the  Mackenzie.  "  Timber 
wolves !"  he  muttered.  And,  dragging  him- 
self laboriously  to  the  window,  he  looked  out 
in  time  to  see  the  pack,  running  close  and  well- 
ordered,  sweep  by  far  out  on  the  shining  level. 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    155 

After  that  he  made  up  his  mind  that  it 
was  wolves  he  would  lie  in  wait  for  in  his 
doorway.  If  he  could  get  a  shot  at  one, 
and  save  the  carcass  from  the  rest  of  the 
pack,  he  would  have  something,  little  to  his 
taste,  indeed,  but  sufficing  to  keep  the  life 
in  his  veins. 

For  several  days  after  this  resolve,  nothing 
came  within  sight  or  sound  of  the  cabin,  not 
even  a  foraging  hawk-owl;  and  with  only 
three  days'  scant  rations  left  on  his  shelves, 
Job  Thatch  began  to  tell  himself  it  was  time 
to  take  thought  for  the  emergencies  that 
might  confront  his  spirit  on  the  other  side 
of  Beyond.  Casting  up  accounts  with  him- 
self, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  as 
he  had  never  funked  in  this  life,  it  was 
not  likely  he  would  meet  with  anything  that 
could  make  him  funk  in  the  next.  He 
further  decided  that,  as  in  this  life  he  had 
always  done  his  best  to  be  square  in  his 
dealings  with  his  fellow-men,  that  Unseen 
Power  whom  he  had  half-consciously  recog- 
nized and  reverenced  would  surely  see  to  it 
that  he  got  a  square  deal  in  the  next.  A 
square  deal  was  all  that  he  asked  for,  and 
he  would  rely  upon  himself  to  play  his  hand. 


156    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

In  the  midst  of  these  stoical  but  bracing 
reflections,  he  was  aroused  by  the  approaching 
clamour  of  the  wolf -pack.  Snatching  his  rifle, 
he  dragged  himself  to  the  door. 

There  was  nothing  in  sight.  The  wolves 
were  behind  the  great  rock.  In  a  few  seconds 
his  trained  ear  told  him  that,  though  still 
far  off,  they  were  approaching  on  a  course 
which  would  take  them  away  along  the 
broken  ground  to  the  right,  and  not  bring 
them  within  range  or  even  view  of  the  cabin 
at  all. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated.  The  baleful 
chorus  told  him  that  the  pack  was  a  very 
large  one,  and  he  himself,  dragging  a 
useless  and  encumbering  leg,  was  hardly  in 
shape  to  do  battle.  But  his  decision  was 
prompt.  Better  die  fighting  then  die  freezing, 
in  any  case.  He  glanced  at  his  rifle  —  a 
repeater  —  to  see  that  the  chamber  was  full, 
snatched  up  a  belt  of  cartridges  and  his  axe, 
and  hitched  his  way  eagerly  around  the 
shoulder  of  the  rock  to  a  point  where  he 
could  view  the  situation. 

He  saw  the  huge,  gaunt  figure  of  the  bear, 
a  hundred  yards  away,  straining  toward  the 
rock.  He  saw  the  ravening  wolf-pack  close 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    157 

behind.  His  first  impulse  was  to  shoot  the 
bear  instantly,  bear's  meat  being  good.  But 
he  knew  that,  if  he  did  so,  he  would  taste 
never  a  shred  of  that  meat,  for  the  wolves 
would  have  it  out  of  sight  in  no  time.  He 
noted  the  numbers  of  the  pack.  He  noted, 
far  behind,  another  and  larger  pack  racing 
up  to  claim  a  share  of  the  spoil.  He  saw 
what  a  hopeless  venture  he  had  let  himself 
into;  and  grimly  resolving  that  the  price 
of  his  life,  in  wolves,  should  be  a  stiff  one, 
he  hoisted  himself  into  a  niche  where  he 
could  brace  himself  upright  and  have  free 
play,  at  the  last,  for  his  axe. 

As  he  did  so,  he  saw  the  bear  reach  the 
rock,  whip  round,  and  grimly  face  the  horde 
of  his  pursuers. 

"Good  for  you,  old  pard!"  muttered 
Thatch.  "I'm  right  glad  I  didn't  shoot!" 


Ill 

FOR  some  moments  the  bear  sat  there  on 
his  haunches,  eyeing  his  dreadful  adversaries. 
They  were  precious  moments  to  him,  for  they 
enabled  him  to  recover  his  wind;  but  this 


1 58    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

the  wolves,  tireless  of  sinew  and  with  lungs 
of  leather,  never  thought  of.  There  was  no 
apparent  consultation  between  them,  nor,  as 
far  as  either  the  bear  or  the  watcher  in  the 
rocks  could  discern,  did  any  communication 
pass  between  the  leader  and  the  rest  of  the 
pack.  Yet  all  at  once,  as  if  on  a  given 
signal,  the  leader  hurled  himself  forward,  and 
the  whole  pack  with  him,  in  silence. 

The  leader  was  in  front,  but  he  was 
leader  not  by  virtue  of  his  superior  stature 
and  strength  alone.  His  was  the  superior 
craft.  He  knew  what  must  inevitably 
happen  to  the  first  in  that  encounter.  At 
the  last  instant  he  swerved  and  sank  down- 
ward. His  nearest  follower  came  to  the 
front,  and  was  met  by  a  right-arm  cuff  from 
the  bear  which  smashed  his  head  clean  back 
into  his  shoulders  and  hurled  the  lifeless  mass 
clear  out  over  the  backs  of  the  pack,  where 
it  was  straightway  seized  and  torn  by  those 
wolves  which  could  not  force  their  way  into 
the  fight. 

Though  the  leader  of  the  pack  had  evaded 
that  fatal  stroke,  he  was  no  shirker;  the 
leader  of  a  wolf -pack  cannot  afford  to  be. 
At  the  instant  when  the  stroke  was  delivered, 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    159 

he  sprang  in  under  the  bear's  uplifted  paw 
and  slashed  the  tender,  exposed  flank 
murderously.  With  his  tremendous  length 
and  strength  of  jaw,  it  was  a  savage  wound. 
But  the  audacity  of  it  was  promptly  punished. 
Before  he  could  spring  back,  his  adversary's 
left  descended  upon  him  —  a  quick,  chopping 
blow  with  all  claws  outstretched  —  and,  with 
a  shattered  spine,  he  dropped  beneath  the 
feet  of  his  fellows. 

As  he  disappeared,  the  black  bulk  of  the 
bear  himself  also  disappeared,  literally  over- 
flooded  by  the  wave  of  wolves.  But  the 
next  instant  the  wave  heaved,  broke,  and 
rolled  back.  Several  wolves,  with  feet  in  air 
and  bowed  backs  like  puppies,  were  hurled 
flying  as  if  from  an  explosion,  and  the  bear 
re-emerged,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  jaws  and 
shoulders  streaming  with  blood  not  all  his  own. 

"Bully  fer  you,  pardner!"  yelled  Thatch, 
forgetting  everything  in  his  excitement  over 
so  fine  a  fight. 

This  enthusiastic  encouragement  was  ap- 
parently lost  on  the  bear,  whose  whole 
attention  was  now  occupied  in  beating  back, 
with  lightning  strokes,  the  returning  surge 
of  his  assailants.  But  the  wolves  heard  it  — 


i6o    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

the  more  or  less  unoccupied  prowlers  on  the 
fringe  of  the  battle.  The  narrow  green 
flames  of  their  eyes  all  turned  upon  the 
figure  of  the  man  who  had  shouted.  Then 
they  launched  themselves  upon  him,  to  the 
number  of  perhaps  twenty.  Job  Thatch 
did  not  take  time  to  count  them  accurately, 
for  he  noted  that  the  second  pack  was 
arriving  upon  the  scene. 

The  rifle  began  to  speak,  almost  as  fast  as 
he  could  pull  the  trigger,  and  the  foremost 
wolves  went  down.  Most  of  the  others,  too 
ravenous  to  think  of  anything  but  the  mad 
craving  in  their  bellies,  stopped  to  feast  on 
the  meat  thus  provided  for  them,  but  three 
kept  straight  on.  One  of  these  was  fairly 
blown  from  the  muzzle  of  Thatch's  gun, 
but  the  other  two  were  upon  him  before  he 
could  get  them  covered.  One  he  dashed 
aside  from  the  butt  with  a  smashed  fore- 
shoulder,  but  the  other  seized  him  by  the 
leg.  It  was  the  broken  leg,  and  Job  Thatch 
laughed,  for  those  terrible  fangs  wasted  their 
fury  on  the  splints.  His  axe  struck  side- 
ways. A  fountain  of  scarlet  followed  it,  and 
the  wolf  fell  backward  writhing  into  the  hideous 
scuffle  below. 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    161 

Palpitating  from  his  triumph,  Thatch 
looked  across  to  see  how  the  bear  was  faring. 
The  battle  still  went  on.  Still  rose  the  black 
but  bloodied  head,  dauntless  and  furious, 
over  the  snapping  pack,  still  thrashed  the 
mighty  flails  of  those  ponderous  fore-arms. 
But  the  new-comers  were  now  sweeping  up 
to  the  reinforcement  of  their  discouraged  kin, 
and  Thatch  saw  that  the  fierce  old  fighter 
would  soon  be  downed.  Snatching  up  his 
rifle  again,  he  hurriedly  refilled  the  chamber, 
and  began  pumping  lead  into  the  new 
arrivals,  the  foremost  of  whom  had  already 
halted  to  devour  their  wounded  kin. 

The  effect  was  almost  immediate,  as  far  as 
the  bear  was  concerned.  His  most  pressing 
assailants,  already  wavering,  were  daunted 
by  the  sounds  of  the  rifle-shots,  and  drew 
off  sullenly,  lingering,  as  they  went,  to  tear  a 
mouthful  or  two  from  a  dying  comrade.  The 
bear,  suddenly  realizing  himself  victorious, 
clutched  the  last  of  his  retiring  assailants 
in  a  death-grip  and  fell  to  biting  at  him 
with  mingled  rage  and  hunger. 

The  new  arrivals,  utterly  engrossed  in 
assuaging  their  famine,  did  not  seem  to 
notice  for  a  few  minutes  how  death  was 


162    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

being  dealt  among  them.  But,  as  their 
pangs  ceased  to  torment  them,  they  once 
more  became  alive  to  other  considerations. 
One,  just  nicked  by  a  bullet,  yelped  and  bit 
at  the  wound.  Then  on  a  sudden  all  the 
survivors  seemed  to  take  note  together  of 
the  fact  that  their  fellows  were  dropping 
about  them,  some  to  instant  stillness,  some 
into  kicking  and  writhing  paroxysms. 
Their  ears  turned  towards  the  shattering 
rifle-shots;  their  eyes  all  stared  with  sudden 
fear  at  the  figure  of  the  man  erect  in  his 
niche.  Then  their  grey,  feathered  tails 
curled  down  between  their  haunches,  they 
ran  quickly  together  as  if  herded  by  a 
threatening  voice,  and  all  swept  off  along 
the  base  of  the  broken  ground,  not  pausing 
to  look  back. 

The  bear,  the  fiercest  pangs  of  his  hunger 
satisfied,  lifted  his  gaunt  and  bleeding  head 
and  stared  defiantly  at  Job  Thatch.  If  this 
was  another  enemy  —  well,  he  was  ready  for 
another  fight.  Thatch  slowly  lifted  his  rifle. 

"Bear  meat's  a  sight  better  eathV  than 
wolf/'  he  muttered. 

Then  he  lowered  the  weapon  again. 

"No,    old   pardner,"    he    continued,    speaking 


WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL    163 

aloud  and  directly  towards  the  doubtful- 
looking  beast,  "that  would  be  a  low-down 
trick  to  play  on  ye,  seein'  as  how  we've 
fought  shoulder  to  shoulder,  so  to  speak. 
An'  a  right  slick  fight  yeVe  put  up !  Here's 
my  best  wishes,  an'  may  ye  keep  clear  of  my 
traps!" 

The  bear,  as  if  uneasy  at  the  sound  of  the 
human  voice,  moved  off  slowly,  dragging  one 
of  the  dead  wolves,  and  looking  for  a  retreat 
in  the  rocks  where  he  could  be  out  of  range 
of  the  man's  disquieting  eye.  Then  Thatch 
came  down  from  his  post  of  vantage.  He 
picked  out  three  of  the  youngest  and  least 
skinny  of  the  carcases,  tied  them  together  by 
the  legs,  and  started  laboriously  to  drag  them 
to  the  cabin,  planning  to  come  back  for 
more  after  he  had  set  a  dinner  on  to  boil. 
He  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  his  weakness  in 
having  let  the  bear  go  free,  but,  after  some 
consideration,  he  managed  to  justify  him- 
self. 

"That  bear  was  nawthin'  but  a  bag  o' 
bones,"  he  murmured.  "He  was  old  an' 
tough,  an'  what  there  was  of  him  would  'ave 
been  mighty  rank  eatin'.  But  young  wolf, 
well  boiled,  can't  be  no  worse'n  dawg!" 


164    WITH  HIS  BACK  TO  THE  WALL 

He  hitched  himself  slowly  into  the  cabin 
with  his  trophies,  his  grim  face  aglow  with 
triumph.  In  his  vague  but  mystical  imagina- 
tion he  could  perceive  the  vast,  silent,  unseen 
powers  of  the  wild,  which  had  so  treacherously 
conspired  against  him,  drawing  back  in  grave 
defeat. 


King    of   Beasts 

water  being  almost  as  warm  as 
milk  to  his  naked  body,  and  buoyant 
by  reason  of  its  heavy  percentage  of  salt, 
Johns  felt  that  he  could  keep  himself  afloat 
in  it  indefinitely.  A  swimmer  strong  and 
accomplished,  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
keep  swimming  straight  ahead,  at  his  leisure, 
till  either  he  should  chance  upon  land  or 
hunger  and  thirst  should  do  for  him.  To 
be  sure,  there  were  other  perils  —  for  these 
tropic  waters  were  the  home  of  shark,  saw- 
fish, and  killer.  But  the  unpleasant  possi- 
bility of  such  an  encounter  he  resolutely 
dismissed  from  his  calculations,  as  one  of 
those  hazards  of  the  game  which  he  could 
not  hope  to  affect  by  taking  thought. 

The  insane  fury  of  the  hurricane  having 
blown  itself  out  some  hours  earlier,  before 
the  wallowing  hulk  which  had  carried  him 
went  down,  Johns  now  found  himself  in  a 

165 


166  KING  OF  BEASTS 

comparative  quiet.  On  the  crests  of  the 
tremendous  rollers  there  was  still  wind 
enough  to  whip  off  the  foam,  and  to  lash 
him  disconcertingly;  but  in  the  vast, 
rocking  valleys  all  was  delicious  peace.  He 
manoeuvred  cleverly  to  keep  himself  in  this 
peace,  while  he  rested  and  recovered  himself 
from  that  strangling  struggle  in  the  vortex 
where  the  hulk  had  gone  down.  From  time 
to  time  he  drove  himself  head  and  shoulders 
above  water,  glancing  about  eagerly  under 
the  starlight  to  see  if  there  were  any  others 
of  the  ship's  company  left  alive.  But 
thinking  how  hardly  he  himself,  with  all  his 
strength  and  water  craft,  and  his  forethought 
in  stripping  naked  for  the  final  ordeal,  had 
won  back  to  the  air  out  of  that  appalling 
vortex,  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  himself 
alone. 

At  first  all  his  life-energies  were  absorbed 
in  the  effort  to  recover  from  that  literal  and 
material  descent  into  hell.  There  was  no 
room  in  him  for  emotion  —  for  anything  but 
the  purpose  to  live.  Then,  as  he  felt  him- 
self swimming  strongly,  and  breathing  once 
more  with  comfort  in  the  smooth,  deep 
hollows  of  the  sea,  and  looking  up  clear-eyed 


KING  OF   BEASTS  167 

at  the  great  stars  hung  low  in  the  velvet  sky, 
a  horror  of  loneliness  gripped  him.  He  had 
touched  solitude  before,  and  gently  shrunk 
from  it.  He  had  imagined  it,  magnified  a 
thousandfold,  and  quailed  at  the  vision.  But 
now,  for  the  first  time,  he  knew  it;  and  for 
a  moment  it  was  as  if  a  gauntlet  of  ice  had 
cupped  itself  stealthily  under  his  heart. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  had  had  a 
plank  or  a  spar,  a  bit  of  railing  to  lay  his 
hand  on,  or  if  he  had  retained  some  tiniest 
rag  of  a  garment,  the  solitude  would  have 
been  less  monstrous.  But  he  was  just  one 
naked  spark  of  human  life  amid  the 
immeasurable,  endless  succession  of  the  seas, 
under  the  still  sky.  The  dead  seemed  less 
unfriended,  swaying  together  blindly  and 
silently  in  those  unimaginable  depths  beneath 
him. 

Most  men,  in  his  situation,  would  have 
thrown  up  their  arms  and  gone  down,  cowed 
by  the  thought  that  they  had  the  whole  ocean 
for  adversary.  But  to  give  up  was  not 
in  the  breed  of  this  man  Johns.  It  was 
not  even,  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  a 
conscious  impulse.  He  could  not  imagine 
himself  giving  up  a  battle,  however  hopeless, 


168  KING  OF  BEASTS 

as  long  as  a  single  faculty  was  left  him  with 
which  to  give  expression  to  his  will.  His 
doctrine  was  that  the  time  for  a  man  to  give 
in  is  not  till  he's  quite  dead  and  knows  it. 

The  question  to  which  te  now  set  his 
reviving  faculties  was  the  direction  in  which 
he  should  swim.  The  night  was  still  young, 
the  long-battered  hulk  having  gone  down 
about  two  hours  after  sunset. 

Coolly  weighing  all  the  probabilities  —  a  vague 
enough  business,  seeing  that  for  two  days 
at  least  no  one  on  the  ship  had  had  any  sure 
notion  as  to  their  latitude  or  longitude  —  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  swim  due  west.  That 
course  seemed  to  offer  him  the  best  hope  of 
making  land  —  a  fair  enough  hope,  indeed, 
whatever  direction  he  might  take  in  this 
sea  of  a  myriad  islands.  The  prime  essential 
was  to  take  one  course  and  stick  to  it,  lest 
he  should  wear  out  his  energies  by  swimming 
in  a  circle.  He  had  the  stars  to  shape  his 
course  by;  and  being  a  roving  journalist 
by  profession,  and  his  head  stuffed  with 
diversified,  though  not  always  exact,  know- 
ledge, he  knew  his  stars  well  enough  for 
the  purpose.  His  great  hope  was  to  make 
land  before  full  day  —  before  the  sun,  blazing 


KING  OF  BEASTS  169 

down  upon  him  from  a  sky  of  brass,  should 
set  his  brains  seething  in  his  unsheltered 
skull,  and  drive  him  mad  with  thirst.  He 
knew  that  any  land  he  might  hope  to  reach 
in  these  seas  was  bound  to  be  a  land  of 
savage  beasts  or  yet  more  savage  men.  But 
the  problem  of  what  he  should  do  on 
reaching  the  said  land  was  one  that,  with 
all  his  dogged  optimism,  did  not  seem  to 
press  for  immediate  solution.  If  ever  he 
should  be  permitted  to  confront  it,  he  would 
then  give  it  his  best  attention. 

With  a  leisurely,  strength-conserving 
stroke  Johns  swam  onward,  on  his  side. 
As  he  neared  the  crest  of  each  long  wave, 
and  felt  the  lash  of  wind  and  spindrift,  he 
would  put  on  a  spurt,  and  dive  through  the 
topmost  smother,  in  order  to  regain  as  soon 
as  possible  the  comparative  quiet  of  the 
lower  slopes.  But  the  wind,  as  if  satisfied 
with  its  accomplishment,  was  now  falling 
rapidly,  and  soon  even  the  crests  ceased 
to  give  him  any  trouble.  The  gale  fell  to 
a  breeze,  and  then,  very  gradually,  died 
down  altogether,  except  for  an  occasional  pant- 
ing puff,  like  a  deep  breath  drawn  sobbingly 
after  a  paroxysm  of  excitement. 


170  KING  OF  BEASTS 

As  Johns  swam  on,  the  dark,  heaving 
surfaces  about  him  fell  smooth  in  oily 
patches,  which  broke  into  swirls  of  milky, 
phosphorescent  flame,  seeded  with  star-dust, 
around  the  surging  of  his  stroke.  This 
intense  phosphorescence  of  the  tropic  waters 
was  a  long  familiar  sight  to  him,  but  now, 
as  he  swam,  he  took  note  of  it  more  minutely 
than  ever  before,  merely  to  occupy  his  mind. 
The  tiny  sparks  of  sharp,  instantaneous  light 
appearing  and  disappearing  in  the  filmy, 
eddying  glow  seemed  to  him  like  eyes, 
derisive  and  vindictive,  taking  observation 
of  his  course  and  laughing  to  think  how  it 
would  end.  Well,  he  cared  little  for  their 
mockery,  but  he  would  disappoint  their 
malignant  expectations.  Throughout  that 
interminable  night  he  amused  himself  with 
this  fancy,  till  at  last  the  stars  began  to  pale 
hurriedly,  and  then  the  precipitate  tropic 
dawn  flared  up  along  the  tumbling  horizon. 

It  flared  upon  a  low  reef,  scourged  by 
breakers,  some  half-dozen  miles  away,  with 
a  fringe  of  palms  beyond  it,  and  a  humped 
hill,  purple-green,  crouching  a  league  or  so 
inland. 

The    man    gave    a   low    laugh    of    exultation, 


KING  OF  BEASTS  171 

changed  his  course  to  the  right,  and  swam 
straight  for  the  reef.  But  he  swam  very 
slowly  now,  husbanding  his  strength  for  the 
final  struggle  with  the  breakers. 

When,  at  last,  he  came  within  a  few 
hundred  yards  of  the  thundering  and 
shattering  line  of  breakers,  now  hurling 
their  cataracts  clean  across  the  reef,  he  saw 
that  a  landing  at  this  point  would  be 
impossible,  even  for  an  expert  surf-rider 
like  himself.  But  he  saw  also  that  the  land  at 
this  point  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  promontory, 
thrust  out  into  the  sea  upon  his  right.  He 
turned  yet  again  to  the  right,  therefore,  and 
swam  on  patiently  in  a  line  parallel  with 
the  roaring  surf.  After  another  couple  of 
hours  —  the  sun  by  this  time  having  turned 
to  molten  brass,  and  forcing  him  to  keep  his 
head  continually  drenched  —  he  rounded  the 
promontory,  and  came  at  length,  as  he  had 
hoped,  to  a  place  where  the  surf,  under  the  lee 
of  the  land,  was  less  unmanageable.  Selecting 
a  massive  roller,  whose  breaking  point  he 
thought  he  could  calculate,  he  raced  shore- 
ward with  its  rush,  keeping  well  behind  its 
gathering  crest,  and  dropping  back,  at  the 
last,  to  avoid  its  shattering  fall.  In  its 


172  KING  OF  BEASTS 

shuddering  collapse  his  feet  found  bottom, 
and,  hurling  himself  forward,  he  plunged 
into  the  lagoon  before  the  next  breaker 
could  overtake  him. 

A  mile  away,  across  still  waters,  lay  a 
white-gold  beach,  ablaze  in  the  sun,  with  a 
shallow  rivulet  threading  its  way  across  it. 

Instantly  wary,  Johns  swam  slowly  toward 
shore,  scanning  every  tree  and  mass  of 
jungle  for  sign  of  dangerous  life.  Some 
parrakeets,  chattering  and  screaming  sociably 
together  in  the  tree-tops  near  the  brook, 
presently  served  to  assure  him  that  there 
were  no  human  beings  or  marauding  beasts 
astir  hi  the  immediate  neighbourhood.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  expect  in  this  unknown 
land  —  which  he  suspected  to  be  some  island 
—  because  he  had  no  means  of  judging 
whether  it  was  an  outlying  member  of  the 
New  Guinea  group  or  part  of  the  Sumatran 
system.  He  knew  that  if  it  belonged  to  the 
New  Guinea  group  it  would  have  no  wild 
animals  more  formidable  than  a  pig,  except, 
of  course,  for  the  snakes.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  was  an  outpost  of  the  Sumatran 
system,  he  knew  he  might  expect  to  find 
here  all  the  fiercest  beasts  of  the  Malay 


KING  OF  BEASTS  173 

Peninsula.  On  the  whole,  however,  he 
hoped  for  the  latter  alternative,  for  there 
were  no  wild  animals  on  the  surface  of  the 
round  green  earth  which  he  dreaded  as  he 
did  the  wild  men  of  the  New  Guinea 
jungles. 

Wading  ashore  at  the  mouth  of  the  stream, 
Johns  threw  himself  down  and  drank  deeply 
of  the  sweet  and  pure  though  almost  tepid 
water.  Then,  seeking  the  nearest  shade,  he 
sat  down  with  his  back  to  a  tree  and  his 
eyes  on  the  thickets,  to  rest  himself  and  take 
stock  of  his  chances.  He  was  desperately 
sleepy  after  the  all-night  swim  and  the  days 
of  strain  and  suspense  which  had  preceded 
it,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  sleep  till  he 
had  done  some  hard  thinking.  Thinking, 
however,  soon  grew  impossible.  Finding 
his  eyelids  dropping  together  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  fantastic  visions  chasing  through 
his  brain  between  one  eyewink  and  another, 
he  climbed  high  into  the  true,  interlaced  a 
couple  of  neighbouring  branches  to  make  him 
a  support,  and  promptly  and  heartily  fell 
asleep. 

For  some  hours,  through  the  heavy  heat 
of  midday  and  well  on  into  the  afternoon, 


174  KING  OF  BEASTS 

he  slept  the  heavy  sleep  of  exhaustion,  but 
was  awakened  at  last  by  hunger  and  by  the 
pains  of  his  cramped  and  intolerable  resting- 
place.  He  rubbed  his  stiffened  limbs  back 
to  life,  and  then,  recognizing  that  this  tree 
was  well  suited  to  be  his  refuge  for  the 
present,  being  one  that  he  could  swing 
himself  into  rapidly,  he  broke  off  a  number 
of  branches  and  wove  himself  a  fairly  secure 
platform,  whereon  he  spread  smaller  branches 
and  foliage  till  he  had  made  a  passable  bed. 
This  gave  him  a  reassuring  animal  sense 
of  possession.  He  had  a  lair  —  something 
standing  for  a  home.  Then  he  clambered 
to  the  ground  and  went  looking  for  something 
to  eat. 

He  soon  saw  that  the  food  supply,  of 
sorts,  was  not  going  to  cause  him  much 
worry.  He  had  no  more  to  do  than  reach 
out  of  his  own  tree  into  the  branches  of 
its  next  neighbour  to  have  all  the  ripe 
mangosteens  that  he  could  desire.  Not  a 
hundred  paces  away  was  a  grove  of  wild 
plantains.  He  felt  sure  he  would  find  the 
nourishing  durian  not  far  off,  and  plenty 
of  succulent  shell-fish  in  the  waters  of 
the  lagoon.  Having  satisfied  his  hunger 


KING  OF  BEASTS  175 

discreetly  on  mangos  teens  and  plantains,  he 
broke  off  and  trimmed  a  slender  but  heavy 
branch  to  make  himself  a  club,  and  then,  as 
naked  as  the  first  man  who  came  down  out 
of  the  tree-tops  to  challenge  the  supremacy 
of  his  four-footed  rivals,  he  emerged  from 
the  shade  and  strode  almost  haughtily  down 
the  beach  to  the  waterside.  Strong  and  lithe, 
and  in  perfect  form,  instead  of  being  daunted 
by  his  utter  nakedness  and  defencelessness, 
his  spirit  rose  all  the  more  resolutely  to  meet 
the  perils  which  he  knew  must  lie  before  him. 

The  beach  he  now  observed  to  be  quite 
liberally  strewn  with  driftwood  and  wreckage. 
Among  this,  after  much  picking  and  choosing, 
he  found  a  fragment  with  a  spike  in  one  end 
of  it,  which  made  a  far  more  effective  weapon 
than  his  rough  branch.  Finding  it  handy 
and  well-balanced,  he  swept  a  challenging 
glance  along  the  dense  banks  of  foliage  with 
all  their  unknown  menace,  then  set  himself 
to  gathering  the  choicest  shell-fish  for  his 
supper.  He  took  them  up  to  his  tree,  and 
there,  sitting  with  his  back  against  the  trunk, 
he  made  a  hearty  meal  before  climbing  to 
his  retreat  in  the  branches. 

So   far   he    had   seen   no   sign   of   life   but   a 


176  KING  OF   BEASTS 

few  monkeys,  many  parrakeets  and  cockatoos, 
and  a  flight  of  rosy  flamingoes.  From  the 
unrifled  wreckage  on  the  beach,  much  of  it 
of  a  character  that  could  not  fail  to  interest 
any  intelligent  savages,  he  concluded  that 
this  neighbourhood  was  not  inhabited  or 
frequented  by  man.  If  it  was  the  haunt  of 
any  of  the  larger  beasts,  he  felt  sure  the  fact 
would  manifest  itself  around  sunset,  when 
they  would  probably  come  down  to  drink  at 
the  sweet- water  stream. 

For  proof  of  the  justice  of  his  reasoning 
he  had  not  long  to  wait.  While  the  sunset 
was  yet  striking  level  through  the  trees,  and 
the  sky  yet  aglow  with  pale  colour,  there  was 
a  heavy  trampling  amid  the  undergrowth, 
and  a  herd  of  wild  buffalo  came  rolling  down 
to  the  brook.  They  were  some  couple  of 
hundred  yards  upstream  from  Johns's  tree, 
but  near  enough  for  him  to  recognize  their 
type. 

"If  those  chaps  are  here,"  he  muttered 
discontentedly,  "I'm  in  for  leopards,  and 
possibly  even  a  tiger  or  two.  I'll  have  to 
be  keeping  my  eyes  peeled." 

And  he  made  up  his  mind  to  equip 
himself,  on  the  morrow,  with  more  weapons, 


KING  OF  BEASTS  177 

particularly  with  something  in  the  way  of  a 
lance  or  spear,  that  he  might  do  battle  at 
longer  range  than  his  club  would  suffice  for. 
He  mused  with  longing  on  his  repeating 
rifle  and  his  brace  of  handy  thirty-eights 
gone  down  with  the  ship.  From  these  futile 
regrets  he  moderated  his  dreams  to  the 
craving  for  a  good  bow  and  arrows,  with 
which  he  could  soon  supply  himself  if  only 
he  had  a  knife.  But  this  was  as  vain  a 
dream  as  that  of  the  rifle  and  the  revolvers. 
He  pulled  himself  together  with  a  little 
soundless  laugh,  squared  his  shoulders, 
examined  critically  his  long,  sinewy  hands 
and  the  muscles  of  his  naked  body,  and 
thrilling  suddenly  to  the  thought  that  he 
had  got  down  to  the  bare  bed-rock  of  un- 
aided manhood,  he  vowed  he  would  prove 
himself,  against  all  assailants,  a  more  efficient 
animal  than  the  best  of  them. 

As  the  chance  of  the  wilds  would  have  it, 
he  had  not  long  to  wait  before  putting  his 
resolution  to  the  test.  The  stream  rippling 
beneath  the  tree,  muddied  by  the  visit  of  the 
buffalo,  had  not  had  more  than  time  to  run 
clear,  when  a  couple  of  small  deer  came  down 
to  drink  at  it.  Wary  of  ambush,  they 


178  KING  OF  BEASTS 

sought  its  banks  in  the  open,  well  below 
Johns's  tree,  and  they  drank  timorously, 
lifting  their  heads  alternately  every  other 
second  to  keep  watch.  For  all  their 
vigilance,  they  could  not  see  the  enemy 
which  was  stealthily  trailing  them.  It  was 
a  slender,  vividly-spotted  ocelot,  which  came 
stealing  after  them  as  noiselessly  as  a  shadow, 
keeping  well  behind  the  screen  of  Johns's 
tree.  Arriving  at  the  base  of  the  trunk,  the 
great  cat  flattened  herself  to  the  ground  and 
peered  around  cautiously,  apparently  in  doubt 
as  to  whether  she  was  near  enough  to  make 
a  successful  rush  upon  the  quarry. 

Before  she  could  make  up  her  mind,  the 
long  vigilant  ears  of  the  deer  seemed  to 
catch  some  sound  of  menace  back  in  the 
jungle.  For  just  a  fraction  of  a  second  the 
two  stood  rigid,  ears,  eyes  and  noses 
directed  toward  the  sound.  Then,  with 
a  bound  so  light  that  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  lifted  by  a  breath,  they  cleared  the 
brook  and  fled  away  down  the  beach.  The 
ocelot,  baring  her  long  white  teeth  in  her 
disappointment,  darted  up  into  the  tree,  and 
peered  back  over  her  tracks  to  see  what  had 
given  her  quarry  the  alarm.  Detecting 


KING  OF  BEASTS  179 

nothing,  she  started  to  climb  higher,  as  if  to 
secure  a  better  view  —  and  was  confronted  by 
the  steady  eyes  of  the  man,  staring  down 
upon  her  over  the  edge  of  his  platform. 

Shrinking  back  with  a  startled  snarl,  and 
ears  flattened  to  her  skull,  she  crouched  on 
her  branch  and  glared  upwards  into  the 
man's  eyes.  But  Johns  did  not  regard  an 
ocelot  as  worth  taking  seriously.  She  was 
nothing  more  to  him  than  a  superior  kind 
of  wild  cat.  But  he  did  not  want  her  or 
her  kind  trespassing  upon  his  tree.  "Skat!" 
he  ordered  sharply,  and  clapped  his  hands. 
The  astonished  animal,  with  tail  rigid  and 
enlarged,  dropped  out  of  the  haunted  tree 
and  scurried  into  the  jungle. 

"  That's  good  enough  for  the  likes  of 
you,"  chuckled  the  man,  and  set  himself  to 
arrange  his  bed  more  comfortably. 

As  the  twilight  fell  swiftly  into  a  starlight 
dark,  Johns  became  unable  to  distinguish 
the  forms  which  sought  the  waterside.  They 
kept  close  to  the  edge  of  the  jungle,  nothing 
more  than  indeterminate  moving  shadows, 
which  did  little  more  than  touch  the  water 
and  vanish.  But  occasional  heavy  tramplings 
and  splashings  revealed  to  him  that  some  of 


i8o  KING  OF  BEASTS 

the  visitors,  whatever  their  character,  were 
of  considerable  bulk.  Once,  some  little 
distance  back  in  the  jungle,  there  was  an 
agonized,  bleating  scream,  followed  by  a 
brief  threshing  among  the  undergrowth, 
and  Johns  inferred  that  some  creature  of 
the  deer  or  goat  tribe  had  fallen  prey  to  the 
ocelot.  The  sound  was  followed  by  an 
unseen  but  noisy  stampede  from  the  brook- 
side.  Then  fell  a  stillness  that  was  intensified 
rather  than  broken  by  the  booming  of  the 
surf  on  the  outer  reefs. 

The  warm,  sea-scented  air  was  like  an 
opiate  bath,  and  Johns  now  felt  himself 
overpowered  with  drowsiness.  He  began  to 
persuade  himself  that  here  on  his  platform 
he  might  safely  go  to  sleep,  in  spite  of  all 
the  marauding  life  now  astir  throughout  the 
jungle.  He  knew  well  enough,  at  the  back 
of  his  brain,  that  it  would  be  madness,  but 
he  was  just  beginning  to  yield,  to  slip  away 
into  visions,  when  a  honey-coloured  light 
flooding  in  from  sea  aroused  him.  The 
moon  was  just  rising.  He  stared  out  at  it, 
his  heart  smitten  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
infinite  and  eternal  desolation.  Then  a 
faint  sound  behind  him  caught  his  ear,  and 


KING  OF  BEASTS  181 

he  turned  his  head.  There  by  the  edge  of 
the  stream,  his  spots  clear  in  the  level  light, 
his  flat,  cruel  head  uplifted  to  eye  the  moon, 
stood  an  enormous  leopard. 

Johns  knew  that  a  leopard  could  climb  a 
tree  as  nimbly  as  the  ocelot.  Without  a 
sound  he  reached  for  his  little  club,  and  felt 
the  spike  in  the  end  of  it  to  see  that  it  was 
secure.  He  wished  that  he  had  had  the 
forethought  to  provide  himself  with  a  spear. 
But  his  spirit  rose  confidently,  and  his  sinews 
tightened,  to  the  doubtful  encounter  that 
seemed  to  lie  before  him. 

Presently  the  leopard  began  to  sniff  the 
air  as  if  he  detected  a  smell  that  puzzled 
him.  That  it  was  a  smell  which  excited  his 
hostility  was  plain  to  be  seen  from  the 
flattening  back  of  his  ears  and  the  twitching 
of  his  tail.  But  apparently  this  man  smell 
was  not  familiar  to  him.  He  crept  about 
stealthily  till  he  came  upon  the  man's 
footprints.  On  the  instant  he  stiffened  into 
vigilant  preparedness.  Here  was  something 
unknown  and  dangerous.  Very  circumspectly 
he  followed  the  trail  to  the  tree,  sniffed 
at  the  trunk,  and  lifted  his  head  to  stare 
up  among  the  branches. 


1 82  KING  OF  BEASTS 

The  man  looked  down  coolly  into  that  pale, 
cruel  glare. 

The  tree  being  now  penetrated  everywhere 
by  the  level  rays,  Johns  knew  that  his  light 
skin  must  make  him  very  clearly  visible  to 
the  foe.  He  slightly  turned  his  head  so 
that  the  moon  would  illuminate  his  face,  and 
gazed  down  into  the  brute's  uplifted  eyes. 
Then  he  began  to  talk. 

1  "You  clear  out  of  this!"  he  ordered,  very 
slowly,  syllable  by  syllable,  in  a  voice  of  iron. 
"You  mind  your  own  affairs,  and  keep  your 
nose  out  of  mine !" 

The  beast  seemed  to  hesitate.  His  eyes 
shifted  once  or  twice,  to  return  instantly  to 
those  of  the  man.  That  steady,  commanding 
gaze  told  him  clearly  enough  that  here  was 
no  trembling  prey,  but  an  adversary,  ready 
for  him  and  unafraid.  How  dangerous  an 
adversary  it  might  be,  that  pale-coloured 
being  with  the  unswerving  eyes,  he  wras 
unable  to  judge.  It  looked  to  be  as  big  as 
himself,  and  it  was  certainly  of  a  most  re- 
markable and  unheard-of  appearance.  Then 
the  sounds  it  was  making.  They  were  not 
loud,  but  there  was  an  incomprehensible 
menace  in  them.  Savage  and  bloodthirsty 


KING  OF  BEASTS  183 

as  he  was,  the  leopard  was  not  really  seeking 
a  fight  for  its  own  sake.  He  was  accustomed 
to  seeing  panic  terror  in  eyes  that  met  his. 
It  was  a  victim,  not  an  antagonist,  that  he 
was  in  search  of.  He  recognized,  of  course, 
that  there  were  creatures  more  formidable 
than  himself.  The  tiger,  for  instance,  he 
gave  the  widest  possible  berth  to.  And  to 
the  old  bull  buffalo  he  discreetly  yielded  way 
if  they  met  in  the  forest  trails.  Could  it  be 
that  this  creature  in  the  tree  was  also  his 
master  ? 

"This  is  my  tree,"  continued  the  cold 
voice  above  him,  slow  word  by  word.  "You 
keep  yourself  out  of  it.  Get ! " 

There  was  a  confidence,  a  decisiveness  in 
the  tones  that  the  puzzled  beast  found  very 
disconcerting.  Gradually  he  seemed  to  con- 
clude that  he  had  no  particular  quarrel  with 
this  self-assured  stranger  staring  down  upon 
him  from  the  branches.  He  turned  away 
his  head  and  pretended,  for  a  few  seconds, 
to  forget  the  stranger's  existence.  Then  he 
wheeled  about  and  went  padding  off,  without 
haste,  into  the  jungle. 

Though  Johns  thrilled  with  exultation 
at  this  significant  victory,  he  drew  a  deep 


1 84  KING  OF  BEASTS 

breath  of  relief  when  the  leopard  had 
vanished.  For  he  knew  that,  with  his  slight 
weapon  and  his  insecure  foothold  in  the  tree, 
the  contest,  had  it  been  forced  upon  him, 
must  have  been  a  doubtful  one.  He  realized 
that  he  must  not  let  himself  sleep,  except 
during  full  day.  He  spent  the  rest  of  the 
night  devising  schemes  for  making  his  retreat 
in  the  tree  more  secure,  and  for  equipping 
himself  with  more  and  better  weapons. 
Throughout  the  night,  at  intervals,  others  of 
the  jungle-dwellers  came  down  to  the  stream 
to  drink,  mostly  varieties  of  the  deer  tribe,  a 
few  more  buffalo,  some  small  animals  which 
he  did  not  recognize,  another  ocelot  or  two, 
and  once  again  a  leopard,  or,  perhaps,  as  he 
concluded,  the  same  one.  About  sunrise 
these  visits  came  to  an  end.  Then  for  a 
couple  of  hours  he  slept  heavily. 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  and  a  conviction 
that  the  leopard  was  climbing  the  tree  to 
attack  him.  He  gripped  his  club  and  leaned 
over  the  edge  of  his  platform,  wide  awake 
and  ready  for  the  battle.  But  there  was 
nothing  in  sight  more  threatening  than  a 
big  rose-crested  cockatoo,  which  hung  head 
downward  from  a  neighbouring  branch, 


KING  OF   BEASTS  185 

erected  its  gorgeous  top-knot,  and  eyed  him 
with  a  kind  of  solemn  malevolence.  He 
burst  into  laughter,  and  the  bird  flew  off 
with  an  outraged  squawk.  Then  Johns 
swung  down  alertly  out  of  his  tree,  took  a 
plunge  in  the  salt  sparkle  of  the  lagoon,  and 
set  himself  to  his  breakfast  of  plantains  and 
mangos  teens.  He  was  content  to  dispense 
with  the  shell-fish  for  the  present,  promising 
himself  that  he  would  tackle  the  problem  of 
making  fire  by  friction  after  he  had  dealt 
with  the  more  pressing  ones  of  weapons  and 
safe  lodging. 

After  a  deal  of  searching  the  drift-wood 
down  the  beach,  he  found  a  strip  of  light 
hand-rail  attached  to  a  support.  In  wrenching 
it  free,  which  proved  a  laborious  task, 
and  bade  fair  to  drown  him  in  his  own  sweat, 
he  split  the  end  of  it  to  a  sharp  and  jagged 
point.  He  recognized  the  wood  for  a  piece 
of  ash,  hard-grained  and  not  too  brittle; 
and  he  was  satisfied  that  here  was  a  fairly 
effective  javelin  with  which  to  stab  down- 
ward upon  an  enemy  striving  to  climb  to  his 
platform.  But  searching  all  the  morning, 
with  a  thatch  of  wet  leaves  on  head  and 
shoulders,  failed  to  show  him  a  club  so 


1 86  KING  OF  BEASTS 

effective  as  the  one  which  he  already  carried. 
With  its  heavy  iron  spike  projecting  on  one 
side  of  the  head  to  form  a  picking  beak,  it 
had  little  fault  but  its  lightness.  He  decided 
that  he  would  have  to  compensate  for  that 
by  putting  the  more  muscle  into  his  stroke. 

Intent  upon  his  search,  Johns  had  for  a 
time  forgotten  the  possible  perils  lurking 
behind  the  green  jungle  wall  along  the  top 
of  the  beach.  Suddenly  a  heavy,  grunting 
breath,  close  behind  him,  made  him  whip 
about  with  a  sensation  of  the  hair  rising  on 
his  scalp. 

Not  more  than  a  dozen  paces  away  stood 
an  old  bull  buffalo,  eyeing  him  malignly. 

Johns  recovered  himself  on  the  instant. 
It  was  the  mysteriousness  of  the  sound  that 
had  startled  him.  The  moment  he  understood 
it  his  nerves  came  back  to  hand.  Knowing 
himself  quick  on  his  feet,  he  felt  certain  that 
he  could  dodge  the  brute's  charge,  and 
escape  him,  if  necessary,  by  plunging  into 
the  lagoon.  But  he  did  not  want  to  run 
away,  if  he  could  avoid  it.  He  stood  his 
ground,  poised  and  ready,  and  met  the 
beast's  stare  calmly. 

At  first  the  bull  seemed  inclined  to  attack, 


KING  OF  BEASTS  187 

as  if  resenting  the  man's  mere  presence.  He 
pawed  the  sand,  angry  but  irresolute.  He 
snorted,  and  took  a  couple  of  steps  nearer. 
But  the  man's  utter  immobility,  together 
with  his  calm  gaze,  seemed  to  act  upon  the 
great  animal  like  a  cooling  douche.  His 
angry  tail  began  to  droop.  He  glanced 
aside  as  if  remembering  an  appointment. 
And,  finally,  after  a  sullen  rumbling  in  his 
throat,  he  turned  away  and  lumbered  off 
toward  the  stream.  Once  or  twice  he  paused 
and  looked  back  defiantly,  as  if  he  half 
expected  the  man  to  pursue  him.  But 
Johns  remained  where  he  was,  leaning  on 
his  lance,  till  the  buffalo  had  wallowed  across 
to  the  opposite  bank.  Then,  muttering  to 
himself,  "I'd  better  be  getting  another  forty 
winks,  if  I'm  going  to  keep  awake  all  night," 
he  betook  himself  to  his  tree,  and  wTent  up 
into  the  branches  as  lightly  and  neatly  as  a 
chimpanzee. 

Having  slept  heavily  through  the  midday 
heat,  Johns  devoted  the  rest  of  the  daylight 
to  strengthening  his  position.  He  lugged 
up  into  the  tree  a  number  of  suitable 
fragments  of  wreckage,  with  a  lot  of  long, 
trailing  fragments  of  a  tough-fibred  wild  vine. 


1 88  KING  OF   BEASTS 

Using  the  vine  as  lashing,  he  constructed  a 
fairly  solid  platform,  with  a  raised  edge  to 
keep  him  from  falling  off  in  his  sleep.  Here 
he  felt  that  he  could  be  comfortable  enough, 
for  a  castaway,  if  the  leopards  would  leave 
him  alone.  If  they  wouldn't,  he  thought 
that  he  could  now  manage  to  give  them  a 
salutary  lesson. 

Just  before  sunset  he  brought  a  big  bunch 
of  plantains  up  into  the  tree,  with  a  bit 
of  dry  spruce  which  he  had  found  among 
the  wreckage,  and  half-a-dozen  hard,  sharp- 
edged  shells.  He  proposed  to  occupy  his 
enforced  vigil  with  the  business  of  scraping 
a  store  of  fine,  fluffy  fibre,  to  serve  as  tinder 
when  he  should  undertake  to  start  a  fire. 
But  he  was  not  to  enjoy  any  such  quietly 
domestic  evening  as  he  anticipated.  He  had 
not  yet  sounded  the  capacities  of  the  jungle. 

From  far  back  in  the  forest  came  a  heavy 
roar  which  sent  a  thrill  of  apprehension  down 
his  spine.  It  was  such  an  utterance  as  no 
leopard  was  capable  of.  He  knew  at  once 
that  only  a  lion  or  a  tiger  could  so  proclaim 
himself.  This  was  not  the  latitude  or 
longitude  for  lions.  What  could  he  do, 
with  his  poor  weapons,  against  a  tiger?  For 


KING  OF  BEASTS  189 

a  few  minutes  his  heart  went  down  to  where 
his  boots  would  have  been  had  he  had  any; 
and  he  saw  himself  going  hourly  in  trembling 
watchfulness,  ready  on  the  instant  to  flee 
into  his  tree-top  like  a  frightened  monkey. 
Then,  like  a  flood  of  warmth  through  all  his 
veins,  came  surging  back  his  old  faith  in 
man  as  the  master  animal.  He  himself,  he 
told  himself,  all  solitary  and  naked  and  an 
alien  in  the  land,  was  nevertheless  lord  of 
all  these  brutes,  supreme  so  long  as  will  and 
courage  failed  him  not.  He  had  read  how 
naked  savages,  in  several  lost  corners  of 
earth,  were  wont  to  hunt  the  tiger  or  the 
jaguar,  alone  and  with  no  weapon  but  a 
sharpened  stake.  He  would  teach  the  tiger, 
when  the  time  came,  to  give  way  before  him 
even  as  the  leopard  and  the  buffalo  had 
done.  In  the  dusk  he  sat  scraping  with  a 
shell  at  his  jagged  lance-tip,  till  the  hard 
point  was  almost  needle  fine. 

After  that  roar  there  had  been  no  more 
sounds  of  visitors  coming  down  through  the 
dusk  to  drink  at  the  stream.  The  long 
silence  grew  ominous,  and  the  man  found 
himself  straining  his  ears  so  intently  that 
he  began  to  imagine  sounds  that  did  not 


190  KING  OF  BEASTS 

exist.  He  thought  he  heard  heavy,  padded 
footsteps  under  his  tree,  but  peering  down 
he  was  able  to  see  clearly  that  there  was 
nothing  there. 

At  last  the  moon  rose.  It  was  no  more 
than  half-way  above  the  sea-line  —  a  red, 
distorted,  swollen  segment  of  a  disc  —  when 
some  hundred  yards  away  the  tiger  emerged 
from  the  thickets,  walking  straight  down 
into  the  eye  of  it.  It  was  evident  that  he 
had  some  inkling  of  the  man's  presence,  for 
he  sniffed  with  menacing  inquiry  and  came 
on  straight  toward  the  tree. 

Johns  was  assured  that  tigers,  in  general, 
were  not  given  to  tree-climbing.  He  also 
knew  that  many  wild  beasts,  at  a  pinch, 
would  defy  the  accepted  dicta  of  natural 
history.  He  was  ready,  however,  to  back 
his  own  alertness  among  the  branches 
against  that  of  any  tiger.  When  the  striped 
and  venomous-looking  brute  came  under  the 
tree,  and  lifted  dreadful  eyes  to  his,  he 
cursed  him  scornfully  and  threw  down  a 
stick  of  driftwood. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  missile  caught 
the  tiger  fair  across  the  muzzle.  He  snarled 
with  surprise  and  rage,  drew  back,  crouched, 


KING  OF  "BEASTS          191 

and  launched  himself  in  a  magnificent 
spring  for  the  lowermost  branch,  where  it 
jutted  out  at  right  angles  to  the  main  trunk. 
He  made  good  his  hold  with  his  great 
forepaws  in  the  crotch,  and  hung  there 
for  a  second  or  two,  clawing  with  his  hinder- 
paws  at  the  trunk  below,  before  he  could 
draw  himself  fully  up. 

This  was  just  what  Johns  had  hoped  and 
planned  for;  and  he  was  ready,  lying  out- 
stretched on  his  platform,  spear  in  hand. 
Jabbing  downward  sharply,  but  not  too 
heavily  —  for  fear  of  breaking  his  point  — 
he  struck  the  beast  in  the  face  twice,  and 
slashed  him  straight  across  one  eye,  quite 
destroying  it.  The  tiger  roared  with  pain, 
got  one  hind-paw  up  on  to  the  branch,  and 
stretched  his  head  far  aside  to  avoid  the 
stabbing  strokes  at  his  face.  This  attitude 
exposed  his  neck  and  throat. 

And  now,  risking  his  point,  the  man 
stabbed  savagely.  The  point  went  true, 
entering  just  behind  the  brute's  jaw;  and 
with  all  the  strength  of  both  arms  the 
man  drove  his  stroke  home.  The  harsh- 
edged  ash  tore  its  way  clean  through;  and 
with  a  choked  screech  the  tiger,  stiffening 


192  KING  OF   BEASTS 

backwards  convulsively,  fell  to  the  ground, 
carrying  the  spear  with  him.  For  a  time 
he  whirled  himself  around  and  around, 
clawing  and  coughing,  and  blowing  out  great 
clots  of  bloody  froth.  Then  at  last  he  sank 
down,  and  lay  still. 

"Curse  him,  he's  broken  my  spear!" 
grumbled  Johns,  dissembling  the  exultation 
which  swelled  his  heart.  Then,  rightly 
arguing  that  the  presence  of  that  dread 
form  beneath  the  tree  would  effectually 
discourage  other  visitors,  he  settled  himself 
to  sleep. 

Next  day  Johns  was  in  doubt,  for  a 
time,  what  to  do  with  the  tiger's  body.  He 
longed  to  skin  it,  that  he  might  dry  the 
hide  in  the  sun  and  keep  it  for  a  trophy  and 
a  couch.  But  with  no  skinning  knife  except 
a  shell,  he  shrank  from  the  task.  Finally 
he  decided  that  the  dead  beast  should 
serve  as  an  object-lesson,  a  notice  to  all  the 
wilderness  marauders  that  the  dweller  in  the 
tree  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  He  dragged 
the  body  several  hundred  yards  down  the 
wind,  and  left  it  on  the  beach,  some  yards 
out  from  the  jungle  edge,  where  all  eyes  might 
consider  it  carefully.  He  felt  confident  that 


KING  OF   BEASTS  193 

word  of  the  tiger-slayer  would  spread  quickly 
through  the  forest,  and  he  would  be  no  more 
troubled. 

In  this  conclusion  Johns  was  doubtless 
right,  for  among  the  wild  kindreds  no  less 
than  among  men  is  prestige  a  potent  influence. 
He  had  proved  himself  master  of  the  monarch 
of  the  jungle,  therefore  he  himself  was 
monarch.  Even  the  elephant,  sagacious  and 
a  respecter  of  jungle  law,  would  have  avoided 
trespassing  on  the  masterful  tree-dweller's 
range.  But  Johns's  luck  was  following  him, 
and  he  was  not  to  be  put  to  the  test  of 
exercising  for  long  the  sovereignty  which  he 
had  so  swiftly  established. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  affair  with 
the  tiger  a  Dutch  trading  schooner  hove  to 
under  the  lee  of  the  promontory,  just  outside 
the  reef,  and  sent  a  boat  ashore  for  water, 
the  quality  of  Johns's  stream  being  known 
to  certain  craft  in  the  island  trade.  A  mile 
or  two  further  down  the  reef  was  a  narrow 
entrance  feasible  for  a  long-boat  or  a  cutter, 
and  Johns  soon  found  himself  celebrating 
his  happy  abdication,  in  trousers  a  thought 
too  broad  in  the  beam  for  his  build,  and  a 
glass  of  pungent  schnapps.  His  story  for  a 


194  KING  OF  BEASTS 

moment  taxed  the  faith  of  his  sturdy  rescuers 
but  an  examination  of  the  dead  beast's 
carcase,  with  the  improvised  spear  through 
its  throat,  proved  convincing  evidence;  and 
Johns  was  able  to  carry  his  prestige  with 
him  to  the  polished  decks  of  the  schooner. 
It  was  a  light  luggage,  but  one  precious  in 
his  eyes. 


In  the  World  of  the  Ghost-lights 

AT  that  tremendous  depth,  half  a  mile 
straight  down  from  the  windy  green- 
and-purple  and  the  cream-white  racing  foam 
of  the  ocean  surface,  such  a  thing  as  the  light 
of  day  was  never  even  guessed  at.  The 
strange  dwellers  in  those  deeps  could  never 
mount  far  toward  the  sunlit  tides  and  live 
to  know  about  it;  for  in  passing  upward 
from  the  terrific  pressures  under  which  they 
had  their  existence,  their  framework  would 
be  fatally  distorted,  or  their  stomachs  would 
turn  inside  out,  or  their  eyes  would  bulge 
from  the  sockets,  or  their  frail  tissues  fall 
apart.  So  they  passed  their  lives  with  no 
knowledge  or  suspicion  of  the  sun,  in  a  quiet 
which  the  maddest  hurricane  could  never 
hope  to  jar. 

Yet  these  deeps  were  not  plunged  in  an 
utter  and  eternal  darkness.  Here  and  there 
a  floating  colony  of  tiny  beings,  infusoria, 

195 


196    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

akin  to  those  which  illuminate  the  surface 
seas  at  night,  made  a  patch  of  nebulous 
glimmer.  Here  and  there  a  faint,  elusive 
pallor,  fading  every  other  moment  to  extinc- 
tion and  reviving  as  if  softly  breathed  upon, 
came  from  spreading  groups  of  those  curious 
plant-like  creatures  known  as  sea-lilies. 
And  the  broad  undulations  of  the  silt-strewn 
ocean  floor  gave  forth  an  attenuated  phos- 
phorescence which  made  them  not  utterly 
invisible.  For  eyes  sufficiently  sensitive, 
therefore,  to  grasp  its  feeble  vibrations,  there 
was  something  approaching  a  spectral  twilight, 
at  least  in  spots,  over  the  deep-sea  bed. 

Besides  this  diffused  glimmer,  which 
seemed  ever  ready  to  die  of  sheer  faintness, 
from  time  to  time  what  seemed  like  a  cluster 
of  glow-worms  would  flash  softly  into  view 
under  some  ledge  or  some  cluster  of  lilies,  to 
be  extinguished,  usually,  a  moment  later. 
Very  often  a  pair  of  tiny  lamps,  so  to  speak, 
of  bluish  or  violet  flame  would  be  waved 
delicately  to  this  side  and  that,  as  if  the 
unseen  bearer  were  seeking  something  in  the 
mystic  gloom.  On  every  side  pale  wisps  and 
eyes  of  light  would  appear  and  dart  and 
vanish.  And  sometimes  what  looked  like 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    197 

the  spectre  of  a  fish,  with  two  long  streamers 
of  light  trailing  back  from  its  nose,  its  fins 
outlined  in  vaporous  radiance  and  a  double  row 
of  softly-glowing  spots  down  its  sides,  would 
go  darting  across  the  obscurity.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  followed  by  a  larger  shape,  ghost- 
pale,  with  an  enormous  head  and  long, 
wavering  body,  and  would  plunge  for  refuge 
in  among  the  tough  foot-stalks  of  the  sea- 
lilies.  In  one  way  or  another,  in  one 
phantasmal  form  or  another,  the  ghost-lights 
flickered  everywhere  throughout  this  sound- 
less gloom. 

In  one  spot,  some  two  feet  above  what 
looked  like  an  immense  flat  stone,  hung  a 
tiny  tuft  of  violet  flame.  From  the  core  of 
tender  light  floated  a  sort  of  down,  an 
aureole  of  faintly  luminous  filaments.  From 
this  soft  radiance  it  could  be  made  out  that 
the  flame  flower  was  hung  from  the  tip  of 
a  slender,  reed-like  support,  which  swayed 
lightly  from  time  to  time,  although  there  was 
no  disturbance  in  the  surrounding  water. 
The  supporting  reed  appeared  to  grow  out  of 
one  end  of  the  flat  rock,  whose  blackish  hue 
melted  into  the  shadow  undulations  of  the 
surrounding  silt.  The  beautiful  little  flame 


198    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

sometimes  trembled,  sometimes  nodded  on 
its  support,  sometimes  faded  almost  to 
invisibility  only  to  burst  into  a  brighter 
glow,  and  altogether  conducted  itself  with  a 
caprice  for  which  no  cause  or  reason  was 
apparent. 

Presently  one  of  those  ghost-like  fish 
forms,  with  the  double  row  of  glow-worm 
points  down  its  sides,  and  enormous  whitish 
eyes,  caught  sight  of  the  trembling  flame 
and  sailed  up  to  investigate  it.  The  visitor 
was  small  —  not  more  than  a  foot  in  length  — 
and  therefore  seemed  to  exercise  a  becoming 
discretion.  As  he  drew  near,  however,  it 
appeared  to  him  that  the  little  violet  light 
was  something  not  only  good  to  eat,  but  safe 
to  appropriate.  He  hurried,  lest  some  other 
hungry  wayfarer  should  forestall  him. 
Except  for  his  curious  illuminations,  he 
looked  quite  like  an  ordinary  fish  of  the 
upper  waters;  but  as  he  darted  up  to  the 
wisp  of  flame,  he  opened  an  amazing  spread 
of  jaw.  In  fact,  his  mouth  was  cut  back  to 
the  very  base  of  his  long  head. 

The  little  flame,  as  if  it  had  eyes  of  its 
own,  slipped  aside  and  dipped  fairly  to  the 
floor,  skilfully  eluding  the  attack.  And  in 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    199 

the  same  instant  an  amazing  thing  happened. 
The  flat  black  stone  which  had  been 
supporting  the  flame  heaved  upwards  and 
opened.  The  opening  was  a  cavern,  set 
about  with  long  teeth,  all  slanting  inwards. 
The  darting  ghost-fish  was  engulfed.  The 
cavern  closed  with  a  snap,  and  on  either 
side  of  where  it  had  been,  glimmered 
lambently  two  pale,  cold,  death-like  eyes. 
Their  phosphorescence  lasted  but  for  a  second 
or  two.  Then  the  black  stone  looked  as 
inanimately  slab-like  as  before,  the  eyes 
becoming  mere  dull  excrescences;  and  the 
little  violet  flame,  slowly  rising,  once  more 
trembled  and  nodded  invitingly  above  it. 

Suddenly  the  flame  went  out,  dead  out.  A 
series  of  massive  concussions  had  disturbed 
the  heavy  water.  All  the  other  definite 
lights  in  the  neighbourhood  —  the  glow-worm 
clusters,  the  gliding  points  and  stars,  the 
sliding  eyes  and  spectral  streamers,  and  even 
the  pallid  display  of  the  imperturbable  sea- 
lilies  —  extinguished  themselves  abruptly,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the 
nebulous  patches  of  the  infusoria  and  the 
elusive  glimmer  of  the  ooze-beds.  Some- 
where in  the  obscurity,  too  far  off  to  be 


200    THE  WORLD  OF   GHOST-LIGHTS 

visible,  but  near  enough  to  make  itself 
startlingly  felt,  a  battle  of  monsters  was  going 
on.  For  all  lesser  beings  of  the  underworld 
it  was  a  case  of  "Lights  out  and  lie  hid!" 
Even  that  great  stone  slab  of  a  creature, 
though  some  seven  or  eight  feet  long  and  a 
good  two  feet  across  at  the  place  where  the 
cavernous  mouth  had  opened,  had  no  wish 
to  attract  the  notice  of  those  fighters.  He 
kept  his  dainty  violet  lure  safely  concealed, 
and  was  content  to  be  the  most  unconsidered 
of  rock  slabs  that  ever  gathered  silt  on  the 
ocean  bottom. 

Presently  the  disturbance  died  away,  and 
once  more  the  water  lay  in  heavy  stillness. 
The  first  of  the  deep-sea  dwellers  to  recover 
confidence  were  the  sea-lilies,  which  slowly 
relit  the  glow  in  their  pale  lilac  and  pinkish 
petals.  The  glow  was  an  irresistible  attraction 
to  all  sorts  of  tiny  living  organisms,  which 
swam  or  floated  towards  it,  to  be  captured 
by  the  carnivorous,  ever-hungry  blooms. 
Then  other  cautious  beings  began  to  let 
their  ghost-lights  glimmer  again  as  they 
resumed  their  prowling,  their  swimming,  or 
their  crawling  —  fish,  shrimps,  star-fish,  crabs, 
monstrous  sea-urchins,  and  huge  black-purple 


THE   WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    201 

trepangs.  And,  last  of  all,  that  monstrous 
lier-in-wait,  the  deep-sea  angler,  hung  out 
once  more  the  lovely  violet  death-lamp  above 
the  hidden  cavern  of  his  jaws. 

These  spectral  deeps  were  not  by  any 
means  lonely  —  at  least,  not  in  this  particular 
section  of  them.  Mysterious,  busy,  almost 
invisible  life  swarmed  everywhere,  hunting 
and  being  hunted.  But  for  a  few  moments 
nothing  more  came  near  the  fluttering  lure. 
The  monster  grew  impatient.  His  appetite 
was  huge,  and  he  lived  only  to  satisfy  it. 
But  as,  with  all  his  strength,  he  had  no 
speed  for  the  pursuit  and  capture  of  his 
prey,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
wait,  sinking  ever  deeper  into  the  silt  to 
make  his  ambush  the  more  secure.  The 
only  sign  of  his  impatience  was  an  added 
activity  and  persuasiveness  in  the  noddings 
and  wavings  of  the  little  violet  flame  on  its 
slender  tentacle. 

And  presently  its  activity  was  rewarded. 
It  caught  the  notice  of  a  most  grotesque- 
looking,  crab-like  creature,  with  a  small, 
circular,  rose-coloured  body  mounted  on 
immensely  long,  jointed,  stilt-like  stalks  of 
legs.  Its  jaws  were  almost  as  big  as  its 


202    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

body,  and  it  waved  from  its  head  two  slim, 
whip-like  antennae,  or  feelers,  even  more 
ludicrously  elongated  than  its  legs.  It  may 
have  been  by  some  delicate  perception  in 
these  feelers  that  it  noticed  the  trembling 
violet  light;  for  where  its  eyes  should  have 
been  were  merely  two  pin-points  of  black,  a 
mere  rudimentary  suggestion  of  what  may 
have  been  eyes  in  some  remote  shoal-water 
ancestor.  However  that  may  be,  the  stork- 
like  crab  certainly  perceived  the  lure.  He 
came  sidling  towards  it  awkwardly  but 
swiftly,  his  great  jaws  working  with  eager- 
ness. 

But  another  prowler  had  also  caught  sight 
of  the  enticing  wisp  of  violet.  An  immense 
scarlet  shrimp,  as  big  as  a  lobster,  came 
swimming  at  it  backwards.  He  could  see 
well  enough,  having  a  pair  of  extravagantly 
large  eyes,  each  with  a  bright  white  bull's-eye 
lamp  glowing  beside  it.  He  saw  not  only 
the  lure,  but  the  sidling  approach  of  his 
long-legged  rival,  and  he  shot  down  in 
jealous  haste.  The  two  arrived  together. 
The  little  flame  eluded  their  rush  and  sank. 
They  followed,  clashing  against  each  other, 
and  plunged  into  a  black  cavern  which 


THE  WORLD   OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    203 

opened  and  rose  to  meet  them.  The  cavern 
gave  a  sucking  gulp  and  closed  again  with 
a  snap.  For  a  second  or  two  those  veiled, 
pale  eyes  on  either  side  of  it  glowed  faintly 
green,  and  then  were  extinguished  again. 
And  once  more  the  little  violet  flame  lifted 
its  lure  above  the  silted  slab. 

The  next  passer-by  to  heed  the  flame  was 
so  formidable-looking  that  one  would  have 
thought  the  lier-in-wait  would  take  alarm 
and  withdraw  the  lure.  It  was  an  immense 
serpentine  "oar-fish,"  a  good  eighteen  feet 
in  length,  with  two  long,  slender  fins,  like  a 
pair  of  oars,  spreading  from  the  sides  of  its 
head.  Its  body  was  extraordinarily  slender 
for  its  length,  being  little  more  than  a  foot 
in  diameter,  and  carried  a  back  fin  running 
all  the  way  from  the  tail  to  the  top  of  the 
head.  At  the  top  of  the  head  this  fin  was 
enlarged  by  several  huge  spines,  perhaps  two 
feet  long,  which  slanted  forward  imposingly 
and  threateningly  over  the  owner's  snout. 
The  body  was  silvery  in  hue,  and  carried  a 
uniform  faint-green  phosphorescence. 

In  a  leisurely  fashion  the  oar-fish  swam 
up  toward  the  quivering  violet  lure.  For- 
midable as  he  looked,  it  awaited  his  approach. 


204    THE  WORLD  OF   GHOST-LIGHTS 

At  last  he  lunged  at  it,  opening  a  smallish 
and  not  very  dangerous  mouth  as  he  did  so. 
The  lure,  of  course,  vanished.  The  cavern 
yawned  beneath  him,  lurched  upwards,  and 
closed  upon  his  body  just  behind  the  gill 
covers. 

For  a  few  moments  the  long  tail  lashed 
the  water  desperately,  till  all  the  surrounding 
lights  were  extinguished  in  terror.  But  the 
captive,  for  all  his  length  and  strength,  was 
utterly  helpless  in  the  grip  of  those  terrific 
jaws  and  long,  rending  fangs.  In  a  very 
few  seconds  he  was  bitten  clean  in  two,  and 
the  head,  with  its  protecting  spines,  rolled 
to  one  side.  The  broad,  ungainly  figure  of 
the  angler  flopped  clear  of  the  silt  and 
snapped  voraciously  at  the  quivering  body, 
biting  off  two-foot  lengths  of  it  and  gulping 
them  almost  without  effort.  His  stomach 
swelled  and  swelled,  but  he  kept  cramming 
the  banquet  down,  till  not  more  than  three 
or  four  feet  of  the  tail  end  of  the  victim 
remained.  Then  he  settled  back  into  his 
lair,  fanned  his  fins  cleverly  till  his  swollen 
form  was  once  more  veiled  in  silt,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  digest  his  gigantic  meal.  Having 
no  more  use  for  food  at  the  moment,  he 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    205 

refrained    from    hanging    out    the    violet    lure. 

As  soon  as  the  turmoil  had  subsided,  and 
the  ghost-lights  had  begun  to  reappear,  the 
news  went  about  in  some  strange  way  that  a 
feast  was  spread  beside  the  big  stone.  In  a 
very  few  minutes  the  two  remaining  frag- 
ments of  the  dead  oar-fish  —  the  tail  and  the 
armoured  head  —  were  centres  of  voracious, 
struggling  life  and  of  a  strange  confusion 
of  lights.  Blood-red,  deep-sea  crayfish, 
monstrous  and  distorted  crabs,  fish  that 
were  all  head  and  jaws,  with  long,  whip-like 
tails,  fish  that  were  all  stomach  and  rending, 
parrot-like  beak,  creatures  that  were  eye- 
less, but  with  long,  groping  antennae,  and 
creatures  whose  immense  staring  eyes  were 
out  of  all  proportion  to  their  bodies,  tore 
frantically  at  the  two  unresisting  lumps  of 
flesh,  or  at  each  other  if  that  seemed  more 
convenient.  Their  tinted  lights  crossed  and 
interwove,  till  each  fragment  of  the  victim 
was  a  mass  of  writhing,  pulsating  glow. 

As  all  these  furious  banqueters  were  of 
more  or  less  insignificant  size  —  the  biggest 
of  the  fish  forms  not  being  much  more  than 
a  foot  in  length  —  there  was,  for  a  time,  no 
wholesale  calamity  among  the  feasters.  But 


206    THE  WORLD  OF   GHOST-LIGHTS 

at  last  three  curious-looking  strangers  came 
sailing  up  to  see  what  was  going  on.  They 
were  black,  short-bodied  fish,  about  two  feet 
in  length,  with  an  ungainly,  drooping  pouch 
to  their  bellies,  heads  almost  half  the  length 
of  their  bodies,  and  mouths  cut  back  to  the 
gills.  They  swam  up  without  haste,  took  in 
the  situation,  and  opened  their  mouths. 

So  wide  were  these  amazing  mouths  of 
theirs,  that  their  own  bodies  might  have 
been  easily  pulled  through  them  by  the  tails. 
The  creatures  themselves  became  insignificant 
beside  those  gaping  traps. 

The  visitors  began  to  feed,  but  with  no 
great  haste.  It  was  just  a  matter  of  scooping 
in  and  gulping  down  violently  the  pre- 
occupied victims.  Once  between  those  jaws, 
there  was  only  one  way  to  go,  for  the  jaws 
were  lined  with  long,  sharp  teeth,  all  pointing 
inward  to  the  capacious  and  slippery  gullet. 
Fish,  shrimps,  crabs,  they  were  all  scooped 
in  impartially  and  vehemently  gulped  down 
into  the  huge,  elastic  stomachs,  where  they 
writhed  together  in  a  packed  mass  till  the 
swift  corrosion  of  the  powerful  digestive 
juices  stilled  them.  In  a  very  few  minutes 
each  of  the  three  strangers  carried  beneath 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    207 

him  a  stomach  much  larger  than  all  the  rest 
of  his  organism  put  together.  Then,  heavily 
and  reluctantly,  they  sailed  off  to  seek  the 
seclusion  of  some  deep  anemone  thicket 
where  they  might  digest  in  peace.  And  the 
scant  remnants  of  the  feasters  went  on  with 
their  banquet  as  if  nothing  whatever  had 
happened  to  damp  the  revelry. 

In  the  stomachs  of  these  deep-sea  dwellers, 
digestion  is  a  process  which  goes  on  with 
appalling  rapidity.  After  an  hour  or  two  of 
quiescence,  the  swollen  body  of  the  gorged 
lier-in-wait  had  subsided  to  something 
almost  approaching  his  normal  flatness. 
With  this  subsidence  his  appetite  reawoke, 
and  suddenly  there  was  the  little,  fluffy 
violet  flame  once  more  nodding  and  quiver- 
ing on  the  bent  tip  of  its  tentacle  above  the 
silted  slab. 

This  time  it  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  the 
success  of  the  late  banquet  had  made  this 
once-neglected  spot  a  popular  corner  of  the 
world.  An  incredibly  monstrous  and  fan- 
tastic shape  came  swimming  slowly  past. 
With  huge,  blank  eyes  it  took  note  of  the 
violet  lure,  and  turned  to  investigate  it. 

The     new    arrival,    obscurely    visible    in     its 


208    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

own  green-silvery  illumination,  was  a  sort  of 
double-decker  in  appearance.  About  five 
feet  in  length,  its  head  and  the  hinder  third 
of  its  body  were  not  unlike  those  of  an 
immensely  fat  and  large-mouthed  eel.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  peculiarly  distorted  member 
of  the  eel  family.  Its  distortion  was  a 
matter  of  its  stomach,  which,  distended  till 
its  membranes  were  almost  as  transparent  as 
glass,  hung  longitudinally  below  its  body 
in  something  the  shape  of  a  dirigible  balloon. 
Into  this  amazing  receptacle  was  neatly 
packed,  lengthwise,  a  stout  blackish  fish  of 
not  less  than  two  feet  and  a  half  in  length, 
together  with  a  mass  of  little  vermilion 
shrimps. 

Even  with  this  enormous  mawful,  how- 
ever, the  fantastic  creature  had  still  a 
lively  appetite.  Possibly  he  thought  the 
beautiful  little  violet  light  would  serve  as  a 
piquant  digestive.  He  opened  his  jaws  wide 
and  sailed  up  to  take  it  in.  Its  glow  was 
almost  tickling  the  tip  of  his  lower  jaw 
before  it  whirled  lightly  aside  and  eluded 
him.  At  the  same  time  that  pendulous 
cylinder  of  his  gorged  stomach  almost  grazed 
the  rock  below.  The  rock  opened  and 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    209 

lazily,  without  effort,  absorbed  it,  with  all 
its  half-digested  contents.  The  rock-like  jaws 
closed  implacably,  and  with  a  convulsive 
lashing  of  its  tail,  the  swimmer,  reduced  now 
to  something  like  the  normal  proportions  of 
an  eel,  darted  away,  leaving  a  ghastly  trail 
of  blood  and  phosphorescence  behind  it. 
For  several  minutes  it  tore  along  in  a  blind 
circle,  heedless  no  less  of  enemies  than  of 
victims  for  which  it  could  have  no  further  use. 
Then,  having  no  longer  anything  to  live  for, 
it  turned  on  its  side  and  sank  to  the  bot- 
tom, to  be  seized  upon,  before  its  squirmings 
were  still,  by  a  colony  of  fantastic  little  lemon- 
yellow  crabs  without  eyes. 

The  yellow  crabs  would  have  had  a  varied 
and  numerous  assortment  of  uninvited  guests 
to  their  banquet  within  the  next  five 
minutes,  but  that  something  now  turned  all 
attention  toward  the  upper  waters.  Directly 
overhead  a  bulky  glow  appeared,  enlarging 
and  brightening  as  it  descended.  As  it 
drew  nearer,  the  pale-greenish  glow  was  seen 
to  be  shot  with  darting  lights  of  white 
and  yellow,  blue  and  lilac.  Then  it  resolved 
itself  into  a  turning  mass  of  furiously 
struggling  life.  At  last  it  settled  slowly 


210    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

upon  the  colony  of  sea-lilies,  and  revealed 
itself  as  the  almost  naked  skeleton  of  a 
whale,  swarming  inside  and  out  with  every 
species  of  deep-sea  scavenger.  No  wonder 
the  little  lemon-yellow  crabs  were  left  to 
finish  their  insignificant  meal  in  peace. 

The  whale  was  one  which  had  been 
harpooned  at  the  surface  by  the  whale- 
fishers,  stripped  of  its  blubber,  and  cast  loose. 
As  the  red  carcase  sank,  first  the  hordes 
of  sharks  had  flung  themselves  upon  it 
ravenously,  rending  away  the  flesh  in  huge 
triangular  masses.  When  it  reached  a  depth 
where  the  sharks  could  no  longer  endure  the 
pressure,  the  gigantic  framework  was  almost 
bare.  The  sharks  were  succeeded,  in  ever- 
increasing  numbers,  by  the  myriad  voracious 
inhabitants  of  the  depths,  of  every  family 
and  kind  except  the  crawling  echinoderms 
and  crustaceans,  which  could  not  travel  far 
from  the  bottom,  and  of  every  size,  from 
terrible  pike-like  creatures  twelve  and  fifteen 
feet  long,  whose  fanged  jaws  might  teach 
prudence  to  the  mightiest  of  the  sharks, 
down  to  little,  black,  purse-like  fish  not 
bigger  than  one's  hand,  all  jaws  and  stomach, 
without  fin-power  to  tear  off  the  juicy 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    211 

morsels  into  which  they  had  sunk  their 
ravening  teeth.  During  the  slow,  revolving 
descent  of  the  great  structure  —  growing  ever 
slower  as  the  pressure  increased  —  the  smaller 
forms  kept  as  far  as  possible  on  the  inside  of 
the  framework,  more  or  less  out  of  the  way 
of  their  larger  and  more  voracious  fellow- 
banqueters.  But  whether  outside  or  within 
the  skeleton,  the  feast  was  an  incessant  and 
implacable  warfare,  the  guests  devouring 
each  other  with  a  large  and  frank  im- 
partiality. 

As  soon  as  the  skeleton  with  its  seething 
glow  had  settled  upon  the  bed  of  sea-lilies, 
then  all  the  crawlers  from  a  mile  about  —  cray- 
fish and  shrimps,  crabs  and  stars,  mostly 
eyeless,  but  all  armed  with  long  antennae  of 
marvellous  delicacy  —  came  thronging  up  for 
their  share.  The  giant  carcase  fairly  boiled 
with  light  and  strife.  In  the  course  of  an 
hour  the  bones  were  picked  so  clean  that 
there  was  nothing  left  except  for  those  tiny 
creatures  armed  with  drills  in  their  heads, 
which  could  bore  into  the  solid  bone  and 
suck  its  juices.  Then  little  by  little  the 
revellers  dropped  away,  either  gorged  them- 
selves or  helping  to  gorge  their  bigger 


212    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

fellows;  and  the  lights  began  to  fade  from 
the  great  arching  ribs  and  cavernous  skull  of 
the  skeleton. 

During  all  this  time  the  lier-in-wait, 
whose  place  of  ambush  was  perhaps  fifty  feet 
distant  from  the  bed  of  sea-lilies,  had  not 
been  faring  altogether  to  his  own  satisfaction. 
It  was  contrary  to  all  his  methods  to  emerge 
from  the  silt  and  flop  over  to  take  a  hand 
in  the  great  scramble.  All  he  could  do  was 
to  hang  out  his  wavering  violet  lamp  and  try 
to  tempt  some  of  the  discontented  outsiders 
from  the  feast.  A  few  small  fry  were 
caught  in  this  way,  but  not  more  than 
enough  to  excite  him.  In  his  excitement  he 
allowed  his  terrible  veiled  eyes  to  emit  a 
pallid  glimmer,  as  they  rolled  about  in  the 
search  for  likely  prey,  while  the  violet  lure 
fairly  danced  up  and  down  in  its  desire  to 
please. 

All  at  once,  however,  those  glimmering 
eyes  detected  something  which  made  their 
light  fade  in  an  instant  and  the  violet  flame 
go  out  as  if  clapped  under  an  extinguisher. 
With  a  stealthy  side  movement,  the  lier-in- 
wait  sank  himself  deeper  into  the  silt.  He 
had  seen  a  long,  sickly-white,  twisting  feeler 


THE   WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    213 

—  yards  and  yards  of  it  —  sliding  over  the 
ribs  of  the  skeleton.  It  was  followed  by 
several  more,  equally  inquisitive.  But  the 
lier-in-wait  had  not  stopped  to  look  at  them. 
He  wanted  as  much  silt  over  him  as  possible, 
even  over  his  eyes,  as  long  as  those 
python-like  feelers  were  investigating  in  that 
neighbourhood. 

It  chanced  that  one  of  those  colossal  white 
squid,  or  deep-sea  devil-fish,  which  herded  by 
the  hundred  on  a  congenial  slope  some  miles 
away,  had  strayed  beyond  his  customary 
limits.  He  had  probably  been  stirred  up 
and  terrified  and  set  to  wandering  by  the 
attack  of  some  troop  of  sperm-whales.  His 
vast,  all-embracing  eyes  had  caught  sight  of 
that  luminous  descent  of  the  carcase,  and 
he  had  come  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
His  progress  had  been  slow,  because,  unless 
in  case  of  special  urgency,  he  travels  by 
dragging  his  unwieldy  bulk  along  the 
bottom,  instead  of  swimming  backwards,  like 
the  little  squid  of  the  surface  waters. 
By  the  time  he  reached  the  scene,  therefore, 
there  was  nothing  left  of  the  feast  to  console 
his  raging  appetite. 

This    white    and    sluggish    wanderer    was    by 


2i4    THE  WORLD   OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

no  means  one  of  the  largest  of  his  awful 
kind.  Yet  the  sprawling  sac  of  his  body, 
with  the  squat,  parrot-beaked  head,  was 
little  under  forty  feet  in  length,  while  the 
ten  writhing  tentacles,  each  as  thick  at  the 
base  as  a  man's  thigh,  which  sprouted  in  a 
bunch  from  the  head  like  leaf-stalks  from 
the  crown  of  a  carrot,  added  another  twenty 
feet.  The  tentacles,  which  were  armed  all 
along  their  under-sides  with  powerful  suction 
discs,  were  as  sensitive,  especially  toward  the 
tips,  as  a  delicate  finger ;  and  they  were 
all  ceaselessly  in  motion,  with  a  stealthy, 
questing,  writhing  movement,  like  so  many 
pale  and  hungry  snakes.  But  the  most 
thoroughly  nightmareish  feature  about  the 
whole  unspeakable  monster  was  the  eyes. 
They  were  two  vast  concave  lenses  of  inky 
blackness,  bulging,  and  so  high  that  their 
upper  rims  almost  met  at  the  top  of  the 
head.  Absolutely  lidless,  utterly  immobile, 
and  of  an  unfathomable  malignancy,  they 
looked  as  if  nothing  could  be  hidden  from 
their  awful  gaze. 

All  over  the  naked  bones  of  the  giant 
skeleton  those  ghastly  tentacles  went  groping, 
picking  off  every  tiny  creature  which  still 


THE  WORLD  OF   GHOST-LIGHTS    215 

clung  there,  and  conveying  the  paltry  spoil 
down  to  the  horrid,  gnashing  beak.  A  few 
fish  which  had  been  imprudent  enough  to 
linger  about  the  scene  were  pounced  upon 
with  a  dreadful  precision  and  swiftness;  and 
some  crabs  and  crayfish  which  were  trying 
to  hide  among  the  crushed  wrecks  of  the 
sea-lilies  found  themselves  snatched  up  and 
thrust  into  the  parrot  beak.  But  such  small 
fry  merely  served  as  appetisers.  In  a  rage, 
the  pale  monster  dragged  himself  completely 
up  on  to  the  top  of  the  skeleton,  perched 
there  for  a  few  moments,  sprawling  all  over 
it,  and  then  let  himself  down  clumsily  on  the 
other  side.  His  inescapable  gaze  had  de- 
tected something  unusual  in  that  neighbour- 
ing rock-slab.  Promptly  two  twisting  feelers 
travelled  over  to  investigate.  On  the  instant 
they  took  hold,  with  a  grip  which  bit  deep 
into  the  hider's  leathery  flesh. 

The  lier-in-wait,  finding  himself  thus  dis- 
covered and  hopeless  of  escape,  instead  of 
collapsing  in  a  panic,  flew  into  a  despairing 
rage.  He  was  of  a  grim  and  battling  breed. 
His  eyes  burst  into  green  flames,  and  his 
cavernous  jaws  snapped  madly.  The  spread 
of  those  jaws  was  not  much  under  a  couple 


216    THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS 

of  feet.  They  caught  a  tentacle  where  it  was 
four  or  five  inches  thick,  and,  tough  though 
it  was,  shore  it  through  without  an  effort. 
But  in  the  same  moment  four  more  tentacles 
secured  a  hold  upon  his  body  —  such  a  hold 
that,  double  and  spring  and  snap  as  he  might, 
he  was  quite  unable  to  inflict  any  further 
punishment  on  his  captor.  Then,  not  swiftly 
but  inexorably,  he  was  lifted  from  his  lair 
and  dragged  down  into  the  squirming  nest 
of  tentacles.  Those  vast,  inky  eyes  glared  at 
him  without  expression.  Then  the  parrot 
beak  opened  wide,  and  the  lier-in-wait, 
crammed  into  It  head  first,  was  swallowed  in 
one  long,  strangling  gulp. 

Contented  for  the  moment  with  this  fairly 
substantial  meal,  the  white  monster  backed 
his  unprotected  body  up  against  and  partly 
into  the  skeleton  of  the  whale.  Then, 
curling  his  tentacles  carelessly  in  front  of 
him,  he  appeared  to  go  to  sleep  with  eyes 
open.  Upon  the  return  of  quiet,  the  glow- 
worm clusters  relit  themselves,  with  the 
crawling  stars  of  rose  or  green,  and  all 
the  darting,  interweaving,  half-indistinguish- 
able ghost-lights,  trailing  phosphorescence 
through  the  heavy  water.  Only  the  beautiful, 


THE  WORLD  OF  GHOST-LIGHTS    217 

filmy,  delicate  flame  of  violet  nodded  and 
coaxed  no  more  above  its  anchoring  slab 
there  in  the  deep,  five  hundred  fathoms 
down. 


The    Moose    that    Knocked   at   the 
Door 

CHAPTER  I 

WHEN  the  snow  stopped,  and  the  wind, 
Carson's  clearing  was  buried  to  the 
tops  of  the  fence  stakes.  The  old  one-storey 
frame  house  —  with  its  long  shed,  and  then 
the  low  barn  set  at  right  angles  to  the  shed 
so  as  to  form  a  letter  L  —  was  buried  nearly 
to  the  tops  of  the  windows.  The  roofs,  swept 
clean  by  the  wind,  showed  black  against  the 
surrounding  whiteness.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  two  days'  storm  was  over  and  the 
sun  was  once  more  shining,  the  sky  was  still 
of  a  hazy  pallor  as  if  it  held  yet  more  snow 
to  let  drop  upon  the  burdened  world;  and 
the  sunlight  had  no  sparkle.  Along  one  side 
of  the  clearing  the  snow  was  heaped  in  huge 
drifts,  and  the  fir  trees  towered  above  it  in 
black  ranks,  shaken  clean;  while  along  the 
other  side,  under  shelter  of  the  forest,  all  the 

218 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    219 

trees  were  shrouded  in  white,  their  laden 
branches  drooping  to  the  ground. 

But  however  dead  and  desolate  the  world 
outside,  there  was  cheer  within  the  house, 
the  main  room,  which  was  at  once  living- 
room,  hall  and  kitchen,  was  darkened  to  a 
curious  twilight  by  the  drifts  of  snow  that 
veiled  the  window  panes,  but  the  effect  was 
merely  to  shut  out  the  outer  loneliness  and 
cold.  A  generous  fire  of  seasoned  birch  and 
maple  roared  in  the  big  kitchen  stove,  from 
whose  wide-open  "draft"  a  red  glow  spread 
across  the  room,  flashing  on  the  polished  tins 
which  hung  along  the  opposite  wall  and  gleam- 
ing capriciously  from  the  white  dishes  and 
old  blue  china  platters  which  lined  the  shelves 
of  the  spacious  dresser. 

At  one  end  of  the  long  deal  table  places 
were  set  for  two,  it  being  now  neaily  noon, 
the  dinner  hour  in  the  backwoods.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  table  Mrs.  Carson  —  a  large, 
bony  woman  with  dark  hair  drawn  back 
uncompromisingly  from  a  kindly  but  irascible 
red  face  —  stood  "kneading  up"  the  tray  of 
dough  for  her  week's  baking.  As  soon  as  she 
could  get  the  bread  into  the  oven  it  would  be 
time  to  dish  up  the  dinner  for  herself  and 


220    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

Amanda.  The  warm  air  of  the  kitchen  was 
savoury  with  a  smell  of  corned-beef  and  turnips 
from  the  black  pot  that  stood  simmering  on 
the  back  of  the  stove. 

By  the  door  Amanda  was  stamping  vigor- 
ously and  brushing  the  snow  from  her  blue 
woollen  skirt,  using  a  somewhat  frayed  grey 
goose  wing  for  a  whisk-broom.  Her  bright, 
flower-like  face  was  flushed  with  exercise, 
and  wilful  wisps  of  light-yellow  hair,  escaped 
from  the  thick,  blue,  home-knit  hood  which 
she  wore  tied  under  her  chin,  curled  down 
across  a  pair  of  dancing  blue  eyes  and  a  short, 
straight,  well-modelled  nose  which  had  a 
tendency  to  go  up  in  the  air.  It  went  up  in 
the  air  now,  with  a  gesture  of  gay  audacity, 
as  she  tossed  her  small  head  to  throw  back 
the  teasing  curls.  Though  panting  from  the 
violence  of  her  exertions  she  was  laughing 
as  if  she  had  enjoyed  them.  She  had  been 
shovelling  paths  through  the  great  drifts  — 
from  the  house  to  the  barn,  from  the  barn 
to  the  well,  and  back  from  the  well  to  the 
house  —  a  heavy  task,  but  one  which,  in  her 
young  enthusiasm  and  her  joy  at  being  home 
again  from  her  months  of  teaching  in  the 
distant  Settlement,  she  had  made  a  game 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    221 

of.  The  big  wooden  snow  shovel,  with  lumps 
of  snow  still  adhering  to  its  vide  blade,  lay 
on  the  floor  beside  her  where  she  had  dropped 
it  as  she  came  in. 

" There !"  she  cried  joyously.  "That  was 
lots  more  fun  than  teaching  'leven  times 
'leven,  mother.  Those  paths  are  great.  I 
guess  they'll  last  —  till  the  next  storm  any- 
way." 

Mrs.  Carson  smiled  without  looking  up  as 
she  deftly  portioned  the  dough  into  the 
deep,  black  baking-pans. 

"Well,  child,  pick  up  the  shovel  an'  stand 
it  behind  the  woodbox  where  it  belongs. 
'Tain't  changed  ye  none,  livin'  there  in  Brine 
Settlement  an'  teachin'  school.  Want  a  little 
nigger  to  run  'round  after  you  an'  pick  up 
things  same  as  you  used  to?" 

Amanda  looked  down  at  the  shovel  with  a 
whimsical  air  of  surprise  at  its  thoughtlessness 
in  being  on  the  floor.  She  gave  it  a  little 
kick,  then  picked  it  up  and  dutifully  depos- 
ited it  in  its  exact  place  behind  the  wood- 
box.  Turning  to  her  mother  with  the  hopeful 
expression  of  one  who  has  earned  a  reward 
she  cried:  "There,  Mumzie !  And  now  I 
want  my  dinner.  I'm  starving." 


222    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

"It's  been  ready  this  ha'f  hour,"  answered 
the  mother,  slipping  a  pan  of  dough  into  the 
oven.  "You  jest  dish  it  up,  child,  an'  I'll 
be  with  you  in  ha'f  a  minute." 

Amanda  plucked  off  her  hood,  flung  it  at 
a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen,  made 
a  pretence  of  smoothing  her  hair  by  pushing 
it  up  with  the  palms  of  her  hands  over  both 
temples,  then  seized  a  fork  and  interestedly 
lifted  the  cover  of  the  steaming  pot. 

Just  at  this  moment  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door.  So  strange  a  knock  it  was  that 
Amanda  dropped  the  pot  cover,  startled; 
and  Mrs.  Carson,  just  about  to  slam  the  oven 
door  in  her  brisk  way,  paused  and  muttered 
under  her  breath:  "Lands!  What's  that?" 
It  was  one  unmistakable  knock,  heavy  and 
indefinite,  but  followed  by  a  vague  sound 
as  of  scraping  and  fumbling. 

Amanda,  instinctively  daring,  took  a  couple 
of  steps  toward  the  door.  Then  she  stopped. 
There  was  certainly  something  very  "queer" 
about  such  a  demand  for  admittance.  The 
fumbling  and  scraping  continued,  punctuated 
with  several  light  taps  which  somehow 
sounded  unintentional.  Then  the  heavy 
wooden  latch  half  lifted  in  its  deep  socket, 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    223 

as  if  something  which  did  not  quite  under- 
stand how  to  work  it  was  tugging  at  the  latch- 
string  outside.  The  delicate  hair  at  the  nape 
of  the  girl's  white  neck  began  to  creep. 

"'Mandy,  don't  you  dare  to  go  for  to  open 
that  door!"  whispered  her  mother,  stepping 
nimbly  around  the  stove  to  her  side  and 
clutching  her  arm. 

But  under  her  play  of  childish  wilfulness 
the  young  girl's  courage  was  high  and  cool. 

"Nonsense,  mother!"  she  replied  in  a 
low  voice.  "It's  probably  some  one  nearly 
dead  with  cold,  too  far  gone  to  knock  pro- 
perly. We  must  open  the  door.  It  would 
be  wicked  not  to."  But  as  she  spoke  she 
ran  into  the  bedroom  and  reappeared  in- 
stantly with  a  rifle  in  her  hands.  As  she 
went  to  the  door  she  coolly  opened  the 
breech  to  see  that  the  cartridge  was  in  place, 
and  she  snapped  it  to  with  a  loud  click  that 
might  serve,  if  necessary,  for  a  warning  to  the 
visitor. 

Heedless  of  her  mother's  vehement  com- 
mands, Amanda  reached  out  her  left  hand 
to  the  latch,  standing  well  back  from  the 
door  and  holding  the  rifle  in  readiness  to  leap 
in  a  flash  to  her  shoulder.  But  before  her 


224    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

fingers  could  touch  the  latch,  in  a  terrifying 
way  it  slowly  lifted  itself  clear  of  the  socket 
and  the  heavy  door  swung  open.  Amanda's 
first  impulse  was  to  hurl  herself  upon  it  and 
strive  to  shut  it  against  the  mystery.  But 
before  she  could  accomplish  this  she  caught 
sight  of  the  visitor  and  stopped  in  amaze- 
ment. A  huge  moose,  with  antlers  spreading 
far  beyond  each  doorpost,  stood  before  her 
blocking  the  whole  doorway,  and  hesitatingly 
thrust  in  his  great  black  muzzle. 

"Shoot  it!  Shoot  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Carson. 
"It's  tryin'  to  git  in  at  us!  Shoot  it,  I  tell 
you!" 

But  Amanda,  lowering  the  gun,  broke  into 
half-hysterical  laughter.  The  tension  had 
been  brief  but  severe,  and  the  relief  was 
infinite.  She  had  not  realized  how  des- 
perately frightened  she  was.  But  she  under- 
stood animals,  wild  and  tame,  instinctively; 
and  she  loved  them  all.  She  reached  out 
her  hand  and  patted  the  great,  appealing 
muzzle. 

"Shoot  him,  mother?  Why,  of  course 
not !  Don't  talk  of  such  a  thing !  See  how 
he's  trembling.  Something  has  been  chasing 
him  and  he's  come  to  us  for  protection. 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    225 

What  could  it  be  to  frighten  a  great  big  thing 
like  him?" 

Mrs.  Carson  had  recovered  herself  by  this 
time,  but  she  was  angry  at  having  been  so 
badly  frightened. 

"If  you  hain't  got  sense  enough  to  shoot 
the  critter,  'Mandy,  then  shoo  him  out  an' 
shut  that  door,  quick.  I'll  not  have  him 
gittin'  in  here  an'  tramplin'  over  things,  I 
tell  you.  The  impidence  of  him !  Shut 
that  door  this  minute.  You're  lettin'  all 
the  cold  in." 

Amanda  laughed  cheerfully. 

"He  can't  get  in,  possibly,  Mumzie !  See, 
his  antlers  are  wider  than  the  door.  I  think 
he  must  be  a  tame  moose  who  has  been  petted 
a  lot,  so  that  a  house  means  friends  and 
safety  for  him.  Well,  you've  come  to  the 
right  place,  old  fellow.  I  wish  I  knew  what 
it  was  had  scared  you  so." 

The  great  beast's  flanks  were  heaving 
violently  and  he  still  trembled;  but  it  was 
plain  to  Amanda  that  he  now  felt  himself 
to  be  with  friends.  Stretching  out  his  ridi- 
culously long,  overhanging,  semi-prehensile 
upper  lip  he  tried  to  get  hold  of  a  fold  of  the 
girl's  skirt.  The  mystery  of  the  lifted  latch 


226    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

was  explained.  He  had  been  pulling  at  the 
string  with  that  inquisitive  lip. 

Amanda  stopped  speaking  for  a  moment, 
delightedly  inspecting  her  protege.  Her 
mother,  still  excited,  was  just  about  to  return 
to  the  attack  when  Amanda  forestalled  her. 

"Oh,  look!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  told 
you  he  was  a  tame  moose,  mother!  He's 
been  driven  in  harness.  Look  where  it  has 
chafed  him  on  the  shoulder.  How  perfectly 
lovely !  I  wonder  if  the  poor  dear  would 
eat  some  cornmeal !  " 

Snatching  a  plate  from  the  table  she  ran 
to  the  meal-barrel  and  scooped  up  a  double 
handful  of  the  coarse  golden  meal.  Mrs. 
Carson,  half  ready  to  be  mollified  by  the 
idea  that  the  animal  was  really  a  tame  one, 
looked  on  doubtfully  while  Amanda  thrust 
the  plate  of  meal  under  his  muzzle.  The 
moose  sniffed  at  it,  then,  not  recognizing 
the  smell,  blew  an  irresolute  blast  through 
his  nostrils.  The  meal  flew  all  over  the 
floor  and  over  the  front  of  Amanda's  dress. 
Straightway  the  moose,  appearing  to  make 
up  his  mind  that  this  was  something  good 
to  eat,  sank  on  his  fore-knees  and  began 
greedily  licking  up  the  yellow  particles.  The 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    227 

better  to  get  at  them  he  turned  his  head 
sideways  and  succeeded  in  jamming  a  portion 
of  one  great  antler  through  the  doorway. 

But  the  sight  of  the  spilt  meal  was  too 
much  for  the  tidy  soul  of  Mrs.  Carson,  whose 
jarred  nerves,  moreover,  took  offence  at  the 
gay  laughter  with  which  Amanda  greeted 
the  animal's  delinquency.  Darting  forward 
with  a  cry  of  "Git  out  o'  here,  you  dirty 
beast!"  she  snatched  up  the  wooden  potato- 
masher  and,  before  Amanda  could  stop  her, 
aimed  a  furious  blow  at  the  offender's  nose. 

Accuracy  of  aim,  however,  was  not  one  of 
Mrs.  Carson's  strong  points.  And  besides, 
just  at  the  crucial  moment  Amanda  had 
caught  her  arm.  The  blow  fell,  not  on  the 
animal's  nose  but  on  one  of  the  branchy 
points  of  the  intruding  antlers.  It  was  a 
sturdy  blow,  as  the  good  lady  in  her  vexation 
had  meant  it  to  be.  But  the  result  of  it 
was  so  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  intent  that 
she  recoiled  with  a  horified  groan,  dropping 
the  potato-masher  while  Amanda  wailed  piti- 
fully: "Mother,  mother,  how  could  you?" 

The  moose,  startled  by  Mrs.  Carson's 
assault,  had  lurched  to  his  feet  and  with- 
drawn his  head  with  such  violence  that  the 


228    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

antler  was  torn  clear  off.  It  fell  at  Mrs. 
Carson's  very  toes,  its  raw  butt,  suffused 
with  tiny  globules  of  blood,  convicting  her 
amazed  eyes  of  an  atrocious  piece  of  cruelty. 
She  wrung  her  hands  and  protested,  half 
crying:  "Oh,  'Mandy,  I  didn't  mean  to! 
How  was  I  to  know  it  would  come  off  so 
easy?" 

The  victim,  however,  seemed  compara- 
tively unperturbed  by  his  astonishing  injury. 
After  giving  his  head  a  vigorous  shake,  as  if 
perhaps  a  bee  had  stung  him,  he  dismissed 
the  matter  and  once  more  thrust  in  his  nose 
toward  Amanda  as  if  begging  her  for  caresses. 
The  loss  of  his  antler  he  did  not  appear  to 
notice.  Then  Amanda  remembered  that  this 
was  about  the  time  when  moose  should  shed 
their  antlers.  Her  horrified  face  relaxed. 
She  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  wild 
laughter.  But  she  checked  her  mirth  sternly, 
thinking  it  advisable  that  her  mother's  peni- 
tence should  endure  a  little. 

"Poor  critter!"  muttered  Mrs.  Carson, 
picking  up  the  shed  antler  and  standing  it 
respectfully  against  the  wall,  and  regarding 
it  as  if  she  thought  of  trying  to  stick  it  on 
again.  "Seems  to  me  he's  mighty  good- 


THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    229 

natured  not  to  git  ugly  over  a  thing  like 
that.  Hadn't  we  better  rub  some  mutton 
taller  on  to  it,  'Mandy?" 

"I  don't  believe  it's  worth  while,  mother," 
replied  the  girl.  "You  see,  at  this  time  of 
year  there'll  be  no  flies  to  bother  the  sore 
spot.  I  don't  believe  it  hurts  him  so  very 
much  after  all;  because,  you  know,  he'd 
have  to  lose  his  horns  before  spring  anyway. 
They  always  drop  off  sometime  in  the 
winter;  so  it  isn't  as  if  it  would  never  grow 
out  again." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  woman  in  a  tone 
of  immense  relief.  "I  forgot  about  'em 
sheddin'  their  horns.  But  I  reckon  it  must 
'ave  hurt  all  the  same.  Looks  mighty  red 
an'  sore.  An'  all  I  can  say  is  I'd  'a'  made 
more  fuss  than  he  did  if  any  one  had  'a' 
done  that  to  me  !  " 

Amanda  broke  out  into  a  peal  of  laughter 
which  made  the  moose  draw  back  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Well,  well,  child,"  said  her  mother  testily, 
"you  know  what  I  mean!  Don't  be  so 
smart.  Git  your  old  critter  tied  up  in  the 
barn  if  you're  goin'  to,  and  don't  keep  dinner 
waitin'  all  day." 


230    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

Amanda  became  thoughtful.  "But  I  don't 
quite  know  how  we're  going  to  get  him 
there,"  she  answered. 

"Why,"  said  Mrs.  Carson,  "if  he  was  a 
horse  you'd  lead  him.  An'  if  he  was  a  cow 
you'd  drive  him.  Now  which  is  he?  That's 
for  you  to  decide,  being  a  school-teacher,  an' 
your  business  to  know  such  things.  But 
do  be  quick  about  it  afore  we  freeze  stiff." 
And  she  turned  away  resolutely  to  dish  up 
the  dinner. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  girl  with  authority, 
"he's  much  more  of  a  cow  than  a  horse. 
But  I  think  I'll  try  leading  him,  all  the  same. 
He  doesn't  look  as  if  he'd  be  easy  to  drive. 
Please  hand  me  that  bit  of  clothes-line, 
mother,  there's  a  dear!" 

Mrs.  Carson  complied,  and  then  brought 
the  girl  her  hood  and  put  it  on  her  head  im- 
patiently. Amanda,  with  the  skill  of  one 
who  has  been  brought  up  on  a  farm,  knotted 
the  rope  first  about  the  animal's  neck  and 
then  around  his  muzzle,  forming  a  halter  — • 
a  process  to  which  he  submitted  with  a 
patient  air  which  showed  that  he  was  used 
to  it.  Then  she  pushed  his  great  forehead 
vigorously  with  both  hands,  to  make  him 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    231 

get  out  of  the  doorway.  He  obeyed  at 
once,  backing  carefully  as  if  stepping  between 
shafts;  and  when  she  turned  to  lead  him 
down  the  deep,  narrow  path  to  the  barn  he 
followed  so  close  that  his  ponderous  muzzle 
was  thrust  over  her  shoulder. 

They  had  almost  reached  the  barn  when 
the  moose  lifted  his  head  with  a  jerk  and 
gave  an  angry  snort.  Amanda,  following 
his  eyes,  peered  away  across  the  white,  undu- 
lating surface  and  caught  sight  of  three  shad- 
owy grey  shapes  just  slinking  into  the  woods. 

"Wolves!"  she  remarked  to  her  follower. 
"So  that  was  what  was  hunting  you,  was 
it?  Well,  you  don't  seem  to  be  much  afraid 
of  them  now!"  And  she  concluded  that 
the  slinking  beasts  had  been  harassing  and 
trailing  their  great  quarry  without  daring 
to  come  within  reach  of  his  hoofs  and  antlers 
until  he  should  be  too  worn  out  to  defend 
himself.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  no 
taste  now  for  following  up  the  venture. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  moose  glared  fiercely 
after  his  vanished  foes,  then  followed  his 
conductor  obediently  into  the  barn.  Old 
Jerry,  the  sorrel  horse  whom  Amanda  had 
ridden  as  a  child,  from  his  stall  whinnied 


232    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

inquiringly  at  sight  of  the  tall  stranger; 
and  the  two  red  and  white  cows  snorted  and 
backed  in  their  stanchions.  But  the  moose 
paid  them  no  attention  whatever.  It  was 
plain  that  he  felt  quite  at  home  in  a  barn 
with  cattle  and  horses.  Amanda  tied  him 
beside  the  haymow  where  he  could  help 
himself;  then,  chafing  her  numbed  fingers, 
she  raced  back  to  the  house,  eager  to  get  in 
out  of  the  stinging  cold.  Her  mother  was 
already  seated  at  the  table  awaiting  her. 

"Won't  that  splendid  fellow  be  a  great 
Christmas  present  for  Dad!"  she  cried  joy- 
ously, patting  back  her  rebellious  wisps  of 
hair  and  hastily  rinsing  her  slim  fingers 
before  she  sat  down. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  good  he'll  be  to 
him!"  said  Mrs.  Carson  sceptically.  "With 
them  legs  o'  his  he'll  walk  right  over  all  the 
fences  an'  eat  up  everything  he  takes  a  shine 
to.  I  never  did  see,  'Mandy,  what  you 
could  find  so  interestin'  in  all  such  outlandish 
critters.  Give  me  a  good  horse,  or  a  cow 
that  don't  jump,  or  even  a  dawg,  says  I." 

"Well,  mother,  I  like  them  too,  you 
know!"  agreed  Amanda  happily,  evading  the 
discussion. 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    233 

CHAPTER  II 

IT  wanted  but  two  days  of  Christmas,  and 
there  was  yet  much  to  be  done  in  making 
ready  for  Christmas  Eve,  when,  according  to 
his  custom,  John  Carson  would  arrive  home 
hearty,  ruddy  and  hungry  after  his  long  trip 
in  from  the  lumber  camps  on  Black  River. 
Mrs.  Carson  and  Amanda  had  a  busy  after- 
noon making  pies  —  pumpkin,  apple,  mince 
—  and  frying  in  the  great  pot  of  sputtering 
lard  an  endless  array  of  fragrant,  goldy-brown 
doughnuts.  The  two  women  were  little  con- 
cerned about  the  storm,  which  had  drifted 
full  the  narrow,  backwoods  roads.  They 
knew  that  it  would  be  a  storm  indeed  that 
could  hinder  John  Carson  on  his  snowshoes 
from  getting  home  for  Christmas.  What 
was  forty  miles  of  wilderness  trail  to  him 
even  though  the  mercury  should  be  hovering 
around  the  twenty-below-zero?  Unfailing  as 
the  almanac  he  would  come  shouting  over 
the  twilight  fields,  kick  off  his  snowshoes  at 
the  door  and  impatiently  wipe  the  frost 
from  his  bearded  lips  before  catching  wife 
and  daughter  to  his  breast.  Neither  woman 
was  troubled  by  misgivings  on  this  score. 


234    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

The  event  of  the  season  would  not  fail 
them. 

Occupied  as  she  was,  Amanda  had  no  time 
to  devote  to  the  big  stranger  in  the  barn. 
But  when,  toward  sundown,  she  and  her 
mother  went  out  to  milk  the  cows  and  fodder 
the  stock  for  the  night  she  found  that  he  had 
managed  to  knock  off  his  remaining  antler, 
probably  having  felt  the  uneven  weight  an 
annoyance.  The  change  which  this  wrought 
in  his  appearance  met  with  Mrs.  Carson's 
hearty  approval,  for,  as  she  remarked  to 
Amanda,  it  made  him  look  "so  much  more 
natural-like."  She  went  up  and  stroked 
him  condescendingly;  and  as  he,  in  return, 
nibbled  trustfully  at  her  apron  with  his  long, 
sensitive  muzzle,  Amanda  saw  that  his  posi- 
tion in  the  family  was  assured.  She  knew 
that  her  mother,  having  once  accepted  him, 
would  love  him  as  she  did  Old  Jerry  and  the 
red  and  white  cows. 

The  following  morning  was  one  of  blue, 
unclouded  sky  and  snapping  cold.  Amanda 
had  intended  putting  the  moose  in  harness 
to  see  if  he  were  really  broken  to  it.  But 
there  was  still  too  much  to  be  done  in  the 
house.  The  plum  pudding  was  yet  to  be 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    235 

prepared.  Instead  of  the  novel  and  exciting 
pastime  of  harnessing  a  giant  bull  moose 
she  saw  her  duty  sternly  pointing  her  to  the 
task  of  stoning  raisins.  With  a  sigh  she 
obeyed;  and  she  managed  to  get  some 
consolation  from  the  raisins  themselves,  which 
were  sweet  and  plump,  the  very  best  that 
Brine  Settlement  could  supply. 

The  dish  of  raisins  was  a  formidable  one, 
for  John  Carson  had  always  an  appetite  and 
liked  his  pudding  rich.  But  before  Amanda 
was  half-way  through  her  task  she  was  inter- 
rupted —  and  the  raisins  were  forgotten. 

There  came  a  peremptory  knock,  which 
was  repeated  before  Mrs.  Carson  could  get 
to  the  door.  The  visitor  proved  to  be  a 
good-looking  young  fellow,  who  kicked  off  his 
snowshoes  outside  and  pulled  off  his  deep 
fur  cap  ceremoniously  as  he  entered.  Mrs. 
Carson  hastened  to  bring  him  a  chair;  while 
Amanda,  whose  hands  were  conspicuously 
sticky,  pushed  back  her  hair  with  a  rounded, 
white  forearm  and  flashed  him  a  smile  of 
cordial  welcome.  The  stranger  was  dressed 
in  the  thick  homespuns  and  cowhide  "larri- 
gans"  of  the  lumberman,  but  at  his  throat, 
as  he  threw  open  his  heavy  jacket,  showed 


236    THE  MOOSE  THAT   KNOCKED 

a  collar  obviously  fresh  and  obviously  linen, 
with  a  neatly  tied  four-in-hand  cravat.  He 
had  a  strong-featured  though  boyish  face, 
with  dark,  direct  eyes  and  a  close-trimmed 
brown  moustache,  and  from  the  accents  of 
his  greeting  Amanda  decided  at  once  that 
though  he  might  be  from  the  lumber  camps 
he  was  certainly  not  of  them. 

"Won't  you  set  up  closer  to  the  fire?" 
suggested  Mrs.  Carson  heartily.  "It's  a  right 
cold  day  out." 

"No,  thank  you,  not  just  yet.  My  fingers 
are  a  bit  numb !"  replied  the  visitor,  pulling 
off  his  woollen  mittens  and  chafing  his  hands 
—  which,  as  Amanda  noted,  were  strong  and 
well  kept.  "You  are  Mrs.  Carson,  aren't 
you?"  he  continued. 

"The  same,"  said  Mrs.  Carson,  while 
Amanda,  not  to  be  quite  left  out,  nodded 
assent. 

"My  name's  Ross  —  Alec  Ross.  And  I'm 
just  on  my  way  in  from  Donovan's  Camp  on 
Forks  Brook.  I  happened  to  stop  in  at 
Crimmins's  —  and  it  was  lucky  I  did.  I 
found  Mrs.  Crimmins  desperately  ill  —  pneu- 
monia or  something  of  that  sort,  I  should 
think.  And  she's  all  alone.  No  one  else  in 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     237 

the  house  but  her  little  three-year-old  boy 
and  her  feeble  old  grandfather,  who,  as  you 
know,  is  almost  as  much  of  a  care  as  the 
child." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Amanda  commiserat- 
ingly,  setting  the  bowl  of  raisins  on  the 
table  and  going  to  wash  her  hands.  The 
young  man's  eyes  followed  her  with  quick 
appreciation. 

"My,  but  that's  bad!"  said  Mrs.  Carson 
in  a  worried  voice.  "The  old  man's  pretty 
nigh  stone  blind  an'  deafer'n  a  post." 

"I  fixed  things  up  the  best  way  I  could," 
Ross  continued,  "and  now  I'm  hurrying  in 
to  the  Settlement  for  the  doctor.  But  you 
know  what  that  will  mean.  The  best  I  can 
hope  to  do  won't  get  him  back  there  before 
to-morrow  morning.  It's  dreadful  to  think 
of  what  may  happen  in  the  meantime.  I 
thought  —  I  hoped  —  there  might  be  some  one 
here  who  could  go  over  and  stay  with  them 
till  I  get  back.  But  I  see  it  is  impossible. 
No  woman  alone  could  get  a  team  through 
those  fifteen  miles  of  drifts  that  I  have  just 


come  over." 


Mrs.    Carson   wrung   her   hands. 

"Oh,"   she   cried  in  keen  distress,   "to  think 


238    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

o'  poor  Nancy  Crimmins  in  sich  trouble  an' 
us  not  able  to  lift  a  finger  to  help  her  !  Quick 
there,  'Mandy,  git  Mr.  Ross  a  cup  o'  hot  tea. 
No,  Mr.  Ross,  you  set  right  where  you  are/' 
she  continued  with  decision,  seeing  that  the 
young  man  had  risen  to  go.  "You  spare 
two  minutes  to  wait  for  your  tea  an'  you'll 
go  the  faster  an'  the  farther  for  it." 

As  it  was  yet  a  good  twenty-five  miles  in 
to  Brine  Settlement,  Ross  recognized  the 
wisdom  of  her  advice  and  sank  back  into 
his  chair,  rubbing  the  stiff  muscles  of  his 
calves.  But  he  observed  that  Amanda  was 
not  getting  the  tea.  Instead  of  that  she  was 
taking  down  a  heavy,  coonskin  coat  from  the 
yellow  clothes-press  by  the  bedroom  door. 

"What  on  airth  are  you  doin',  child?" 
demanded  her  mother  sharply,  but  with  a 
note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"I'm  going  over  to  take  care  of  Mrs.  Crim- 
mins till  the  doctor  comes,"  said  the  girl 
quietly. 

"But  you  ain't!  You  ain't  goin'  to  stir 
out  of  this  house,  'Mandy  Carson,"  decreed 
her  mother. 

Now  Amanda  was  nearly  twenty-two  years 
old,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  general  knowledge 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     239 

that  her  control  of  the  rather  turbulent 
school  at  Brine  Settlement  was  perfect.  Her 
usually  wilful  mouth  was  not  wilful  at  all 
now,  but  grave  and  firm. 

"You  know  very  well  that  I  must  go, 
mother,"  she  answered  gently.  "Do  you 
suppose  I  could  stay  here,  with  poor  Mrs. 
Crimmins  maybe  dying?  Stay  here  safe 
and  comfortable  —  stoning  raisins?"  she  went 
on,  with  a  little  break  in  her  voice.  "Please, 
mother,  get  Mr.  Ross  his  tea  as  quick  as  you 
can  and  then  come  and  help  me  get  ready." 

There  was  a  finality  in  this  quiet  speech 
that  brought  Mrs.  Carson  at  once  to  terms. 
She  bustled  off  to  get  the  tea,  but  at  the 
same  time  she  became  almost  tearful  in  her 
excitement. 

"Oh,  why  won't  you  never  listen  to  reason, 
'Mandy?"  she  wailed.  "You  was  always 
that  headstrong !  But  you'll  never  git  there. 
You'll  git  stuck  fast  in  the  snow.  An' 
you'll  be  frozen  stiff,  you  know  you  will. 
An'  oh  !  what  will  your  poor  father  say  when 
he  gits  home  an'  finds  you  gone  ?  Mr.  Ross," 
she  cried,  turning  suddenly  to  the  young  man 
who  had  been  watching  Amanda  with  the 
keenest  admiration,  "you  speak  to  her !  You 


240    THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

tell  her  she  can't  do  it,  an'  hadn't  ought  to 
try.  Maybe  she'll  listen  to  a  man!" 

Alec  Ross  got  up  from  his  seat.  "Allow 
me  to  say,  Miss  Carson,  I'm  afraid  your 
mother's  right.  I  know  just  how  you  feel 
about  it;  and  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so  I 
think  your  pluck  is  splendid.  But  you  could 
never  get  a  horse  through  those  drifts  all  by 
yourself.  It's  hard,  but  I  guess  you'll  have 
to  give  it  up." 

Amanda  tossed  her  head  defiantly.  "That's 
nonsense!"  she  declared.  "Don't  you  sup- 
pose I  can  go  on  snowshoes  just  as  well  as 
you  if  I  want  to?  What's  fifteen  miles?" 

Ross  hesitated.  He  did  not  want  to  alarm 
the  two  women,  living  there  alone  in  the 
vast  solitudes.  But  it  was  plainly  necessary 
to  be  frank. 

"I've  no  doubt  you  could  do  it  if  you  say 
so,"  he  replied.  "But,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  there  are  wolves  around  this  winter. 
For  the  last  fifty  years  or  so,  as  you  know, 
they've  been  unheard  of  in  this  part  of  the 
country;  but  now  they've  come  back." 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  having  settled  the 
question.  And  Mrs.  Carson  beamed  approval 
as  she  set  the  cup  of  hot,  strong  tea  before  him. 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     241 

But  Amanda  answered  very  quietly:  "Yes, 
I  knew  the  wolves  had  come  tack!"  Both 
Ross  and  Mrs.  Carson  stared  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment. "  You  don't  seem  to  concern  yourself 
much  about  them!"  she  continued. 

Ross  threw  back  his  jacket  with  a  boyish 
gesture  and  displayed  a  pair  of  "thirty- 
eights"  in  his  belt.  "I'm  ready  for  them  if 
they  should  come  along  looking  for  trouble," 
said  he. 

"Well,"  said  Amanda,  "I'm  really  and 
truly  not  one  bit  worried  about  them  either. 
They're  nothing  but  skulking  curs,  these 
Eastern  wolves.  And  I've  got  my  Win- 
chester, a  repeater,  which  I  know  how  to  use. 
I'm  not  thinking  about  wolves  —  I  saw  three 
of  them  yesterday  slinking  along  the  edge  of 
the  clearing,  and  they  'put'  when  they  saw 
me.  It  was  they  that  had  been  chasing  my 
moose,  mother.  Well,  now  I'm  going  to 
hitch  up  my  moose  in  the  pung  and  see  if  his 
long  legs  won't  pull  me  through  the  drifts 
—  for  I  know  very  well  Old  Jerry  couldn't 
do  it.  If  the  moose  fails  me,  I'll  turn  him 
loose  and  go  on  with  my  snowshoes.  But 
I  do  believe,  mother,  it  was  just  for  this  that 
the  moose  was  sent  to  us." 


242    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

To  Mrs.  Carson's  deeply  religious  and  some- 
what superstitious  mind  this  last  suggestion 
carried  such  weight  that  forthwith,  in  spite 
of  the  dreadful  menace  of  the  wolves,  her 
opposition  vanished.  It  was  "a  sign,"  as 
she  would  have  called  it.  But  Alec  Ross 
looked  so  amazed  that  it  was  necessary  to 
tell  him  the  whole  story  while  he  drank  his 
tea.  He  was  full  of  misgivings;  but  he 
saw  that  it  was  useless  to  try  to  dissuade 
the  resolute  girl.  So  assuming  a  confidence 
which  he  was  very  far  from  feeling  he  cheer- 
fully pledged  himself  to  meet  her  next  morning 
at  Crimmins's.  Then,  pulling  his  cap  far 
down  over  his  ears,  he  slipped  his  feet  into 
the  thongs  of  his  snowshoes  and  went  off 
with  the  long,  swinging  stride  of  the  practised 
snowshoer. 

"He  ain't  no  lumberman,"  said  Mrs. 
Carson,  eyeing  him  critically  as  he  went, 
"but  I  reckon  he  knows  what  he's  about." 
And  Amanda,  who  was  pulling  on  an  extra 
pair  of  thick  woollen  stockings,  agreed  with 
her. 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    243 

CHAPTER  III 

AMANDA  was  quite  right  about  the  moose. 
He  had  been  thoroughly  broken  to  harness. 
It  was  evident  that  he  had  been  taken  as  a 
very  young  calf  and  brought  up  as  a  pet  on 
some  far  backwoods  farm.  He  was  docility 
itself,  and  plainly  loved  to  be  handled.  But 
as  he  had  not  been  trained  to  take  the  bit, 
Amanda  had  to  drive  him  with  reins  attached 
to  a  halter.  She  found  the  reins  of  little 
use,  however,  for  the  great  beast  responded 
to  the  commands  "Haw,"  "Gee,"  "Whoa," 
"G'long,"  "Git-up,"  like  a  well-trained  and 
willing  ox,  but  far  more  sensitively  than 
any  ox  had  ever  the  wit  to  do. 

Sitting  low  in  the  sturdy  pung  with  a  hot 
brick  at  her  feet,  warmly  clad,  well  bundled 
in  old-fashioned  buffalo  robes,  her  hands 
double-mittened  and  her  face  shining  rosy 
from  its  encircling  folds  of  a  white  woolen 
scarf,  Amanda  found  herself  enjoying  her 
journey  in  spite  of  her  anxieties  and  her  sad 
errand.  She  was  exhilarated  beyond  words 
by  her  easy  control  of  this  novel  and  imposing 
steed.  With  his  enormous,  spreading  hoofs, 
which  formed  a  species  of  snowshoe,  partly 


244    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

bearing  him  up,  with  his  vast  strength  of 
shoulder  and  singular  length  of  leg,  the 
moose  took  her  through  depths  of  drift  where 
a  horse  would  have  hopelessly  foundered. 
He  forged  ahead  not  fast  but  steadily,  and 
the  pung,  on  its  low  runners  and  wide  shoes, 
rode  fairly  high  in  the  snow. 

Of  the  wolves  she  saw  never  a  sign;  and 
so,  without  event,  by  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon she  came  to  Crimmins's  wide  clearing. 

She  found  the  sick  woman  half  delirious 
with  pain,  fever  and  anxiety,  the  child  whim- 
pering with  terror,  the  bent  old  man  muttering 
to  himself  as  he  gropingly  fed  the  fire  with 
the  abundant  wood  which  Alec  Ross  had 
stored  behind  the  stove.  The  situation  was 
unspeakably  pitiful,  and  Amanda  thanked 
Heaven  that  she  had  been  resolute  to  come. 
Her  coming,  indeed,  seemed  to  work  an  in- 
stant miracle,  as  the  child's  fears  were  soothed, 
the  sick  woman's  terrible  anxiety  relaxed, 
and  the  old  man  felt  once  more  free  to  doze 
in  his  big  chair.  There  was  so  much  to  be 
done  that  for  hours  Amanda  had  no  time  to 
think.  Not  until  late  that  night,  with  the 
child  asleep  in  his  trundle-bed,  and  the  old 
man  vanished  to  his  tiny  cupboard  room, 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     245 

was  she  able  to  sit  down  and  rest.  Only 
then  did  she  begin  to  realize  how  exhausted 
she  was.  * 

She  found  an  old  magazine  on  a  shelf  in 
the  corner  and  turned  over  the  pages.  But 
she  could  not  read,  with  the  sick  woman's 
painful  breathing  loud  in  her  ears.  She 
found,  though  she  did  not  realize  it,  that  the 
only  thing  that  could  divert  her  attention 
from  the  sound  was  to  think  about  the  man 
who  had  so  unexpectedly  launched  her  on 
this  errand.  She  pictured  to  herself  his  kind 
and  strong  young  face,  his  courtesy,  his  un- 
selfishness, his  helpfulness,  the  grace  and 
force  of  his  figure  as  he  swung  off  across  the 
snow  from  her  mother's  door.  A  pang  seized 
her  as  she  thought  of  him,  perhaps  trailed  by 
wolves,  perhaps  in  a  running  fight  with  them, 
before  he  could  reach  the  Settlement.  But 
this  thought  she  threw  off  with  scorn.  The 
slinking  brutes  would  never  dare  actually  to 
attack  him.  Then  she  smiled  to  herself,  a 
smile  of  indulgent  tenderness,  as  she  recalled 
the  evidences  which  she  had  found  of  his 
kindly  but  bungling  efforts  in  the  sick-room. 
Yet  he  had  not  done  so  badly  after  all,  for  a 
man,  she  thought. 


246    THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

The  clock  began  to  strike  for  midnight. 
In  a  few  seconds  it  would  be  Christmas  Eve. 
She  wondered  if  she  would  be  home  before 
her  father  arrived.  She  hoped  so,  passion- 
ately. She  did  not  like  to  think  of  his  big, 
disappointed  face  if  she  were  not  there  to 
greet  him  —  of  his  desperate  anxiety  over  her 
rash  expedition.  At  last  she  felt  her  eyelids 
irresistibly  drooping  and  she  sprang  to  her 
feet.  She  must  not  fall  asleep.  She  went 
over  to  the  bed  and  found  the  patient  less 
restless,  her  breathing  apparently  eased  by 
the  hot  poultices  of  fiaxseed  in  which  Amanda 
had  lavishly  enveloped  her  chest.  Amanda 
did  not  know  much  about  sickness,  but  she 
knew  enough  to  feel  gratified  when  she  found 
that  the  patient's  racing  pulse  had  grown 
less  threadlike  and  uneven. 

And  now  for  hours  the  fight  to  keep  awake. 
It  occupied  all  her  attention.  She  had  never 
known  that  hours  could  be  so  interminable. 
She  dared  not  sit  down  for  more  than  a 
moment  at  a  time.  And  often  she  thought 
the  clock  must  have  stopped,  so  slowly 
crawled  the  hands.  But  the  night  did  pass, 
and  just  on  the  bitter  edge  of  dawn  came  the 
sound  of  bells.  The  doctor  and  Ross  had 


THE   MOOSE  THAT   KNOCKED     247 

arrived,  bringing  with  them  a  nurse  from  the 
Settlement. 

Amanda  heard  the  doctor  pronounce  that 
her  nursing  and  her  flaxseed  poultices  had 
probably  saved  the  day  —  that  Mrs.  Crimmins 
would  probably  pull  through.  She  caught 
the  look  of  immeasurable  admiration  in  Alec 
Ross's  eyes.  Then,  curling  herself  up  happily 
like  a  child  in  the  old  man's  big  chair,  she 
went  fast  asleep. 

After  the  long  strain  which  she  had  been 
under  it  was  midday  and  past  before  Amanda 
was  fit  to  set  out  for  home.  Alec  Ross,  whose 
muscles  seemed  to  be  of  steel,  was  about 
returning  to  the  Settlement,  and  Amanda, 
with  a  trepidation  which  made  her  angry  at 
herself,  offered  him  a  seat  in  the  pung.  He 
accepted  eagerly  —  but  with  a  quizzical  proviso 
that  she  should  not  ask  him  to  drive. 

"I've  no  great  idea  of  myself  as  a  Hagen- 
beck!"  he  apologized. 

"Don't  think  for  a  moment  I'd  let  you 
drive  this  dear  beast!"  retorted  Amanda 
with  decision.  "He  seems  to  know  just 
what  I  want  him  to  do.  I  don't  believe  he'd 
be  quite  pleased  to  have  any  one  drive  him 
but  me." 


248    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

"He  is  a  beast  of  sense.  I  entirely  agree 
with  him,"  said  the  young  man  as  he  tucked 
the  wraps  carefully  about  her  before  taking 
his  seat. 

Amanda's  small  nose  went  up  in  the  air 
with  a  mixture  of  doubt  and  defiance.  She 
was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  was  quizzing 
her  or  not.  Perhaps,  even,  he  was  making 
fun  of  her  moose  —  which  would  have  been 
unforgivably  stupid  of  him.  She  was  an- 
noyed and  disappointed.  But  as  her  atten- 
tion was  occupied  with  the  start  he  never 
noticed  her  ill  humour.  He  began  to  talk, 
gaily  and  interestingly.  And  he  was  so 
obviously,  boyishly  happy  over  the  situation 
that  Amanda  felt  speedily  convicted  of  in- 
justice and  set  herself  to  make  up  to  him  for 
the  wrong  of  which  he  was  so  unaware.  In 
such  a  mood,  with  her  beauty,  her  sparkle, 
her  childlike  confidence  and  frank  audacities, 
she  was  dangerously  intoxicating;  and  Alec 
Ross  felt  her  going  rapidly  to  his  head.  The 
better  to  keep  a  grip  on  himself  he  became 
grave  and  quiet.  But  as  Amanda  saw  from 
a  side  glance  at  his  face  that  he  was  in  no 
way  discontented,  his  quietness  by  no  means 
damped  her  spirits.  She  told  herself,  with 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     249 

conviction,  that  she  was  "having  a  lovely 
time." 

The  moose,  meanwhile,  went  faithfully. 
But  it  was  slow  travelling  through  the  depths 
of  broken  drift.  The  early  winter  dark 
closed  down  before  they  had  covered  much 
more  than  half  the  journey.  This  was  of  no 
consequence,  however,  for  the  sky  was  full  of 
stars  so  sharply  clear  that  they  almost  seemed 
to  snap,  and  the  snow  spread  everywhere  a 
wide,  spectral  glimmer.  With  the  falling  of 
the  dark  Amanda  fell  silent  and  seemed  to 
give  all  her  attention  to  the  driving.  But 
she  was  content.  As  was  fitting,  nay,  essen- 
tial in  such  cold,  she  was  allowing  herself  to 
sit  quite  close  to  her  companion,  whose  silence, 
somehow,  did  not  seem  uncompanionable. 

About  an  hour  after  dark  they  came,  still 
silent,  to  the  lonely  fork  of  the  roads  where, 
through  a  stretch  of  burnt  lands,  a  confusion 
of  tumbled  and  shrouded  trunks,  the  trail 
from  the  Black  River  Camp  joined  the  main 
road. 

"This  is  the  road  father  comes  by,"  said 
Amanda.  "I  do  hope  we're  ahead  of  him,  so 
he  won't  be  worried.  He  doesn't  generally 
come  so  early  as  this." 


250    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

"No,"  said  Alec  Ross,  "he  hasn't  gone  by 
yet.  No  sign  of  snowshoe  tracks  along  here 
except  mine  of  yesterday.  You'll  be  in  lots 
of  time  the  way  this  excellent  menagerie  of 
yours  travels.  But,  no !  By  George,  I'm 
wrong !  There  is  another  track  —  over  by 
mine,  on  your  right." 

"Oh,  let's  hurry!"  cried  the  girl.  "We 
must  hurry  and  try  and  overtake  him.  Get 
up,  there,  Moose.  There's  a  dear!" 

"But  it  may  not  be  your  father's  track 
after  all,"  objected  Ross. 

"Of  course  it  is!  Who  else  could  it  be 
from  that  direction  ? "  retorted  Amanda 
impatiently. 

"You  know,"  Ross  reminded  her,  "the 
trail  from  Johnson's  runs  into  the  Black 
River  road  about  a  mile  back." 

"But  I  just  know  it's  his,"  began  Amanda, 
"because " 

She  stopped  short  as  a  shrill  sound,  half 
bark,  half  howl,  came  from  up  the  Black 
River  trail.  It  was  answered  instantly  by 
another  in  a  slightly  lower  key. 

The  moose  gave  a  leap  forward,  then 
stopped  abruptly  with  a  snort. 

"It's  your  friends,    the   wolves,   and   not  far 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED     251 

off/7  said  Alec  Ross.  He  spoke  lightly.  But 
at  the  same  time  he  slipped  his  right  hand  in 
under  his  coat  till  it  found  the  grip  of  his  Colts. 

Amanda's  face  was  drawn  with  distress  and 
indecision.  She  was  in  a  fever  to  hurry  for- 
ward, to  overtake  her  father  before  he  should 
reach  home.  But  there  was  something  in 
those  sounds  which  stirred  terrible  imaginings 
within  her.  She  could  not  bear  to  go  on. 
The  thin,  hair-raising  cries  were  repeated. 

"It  sounds  to  me  as  if  they  were  at  some- 
thing," she  suggested..  "What  if  they  had 
some  one  up  a  tree?" 

The  picture  made  by  her  own  suggestion 
burned  itself  into  her  mind  with  awful  clear- 
ness. 

"Perhaps  they  have  something  up  a  tree," 
agreed  Ross.  "A  grumbling  old  porcupine, 
most  likely.  Much  good  may  it  do  them!" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  wolves 
except  what  I've  read;  but  I  don't  believe 
they're  such  fools  as  that,"  said  the  girl. 
And  coming  to  a  sudden  decision  she  started 
to  turn  the  moose.  "Won't  you  please  get 
out  and  lift  the  pung  around  so  we  won't 
upset?" 

"By    George,    but    you've    got    the    pluck!" 


2J2    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

exclaimed  the  young  man,  obeying  with  alacrity. 
"But  will  your  beast  stand  for  it?" 

The  beast  evidently  had  no  objection,  but 
rather,  having  unlimited  faith  in  his  human 
protectors,  seemed  ambitious  to  get  to  close 
quarters  with  the  foe. 

As  the  pung  started  up  the  Black  River 
road  Amanda  said  deprecatingly :  "I  expect 
I'm  an  awful  fool !  But  you  know  it  might 
be  —  some  man !  And  I  just  couldn't  go 
home  and  be  happy  if  I  didn't  make  sure, 
could  I?  Could  you?" 

"I  think  you  are"  —  he  hesitated,  while 
ardent  words  crowded  to  his  lips,  and  finally 
said,  "all  right." 

It  was  tame  enough,  but  the  tone  in  which 
he  said  it  made  it  seem  to  Amanda  a  lyric 
eulogy.  In  a  sort  of  exaltation  she  urged 
the  moose  forward.  For  all  the  thought  she 
had  of  danger  to  herself  she  might  have  been 
going  to  a  poultry  show. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  wolves  gave  cry 
again,  several  voices  commingling  and  with 
an  unmistakable  note  of  excitement. 

"They  have  got  something  there,  sure 
enough!"  exclaimed  Ross.  "And  they're  close 
ahead  —  just  around  that  bend." 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    253 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  across  the  clamour  of  the  wolves  came 
a  shout  —  a  man's  voice,  dauntless  and  authori- 
tative. 

Amanda's  heart  stood  still.  "My  God!" 
she  gasped.  "It's  father!" 

CHAPTER    IV 

THE  fact  that  for  the  last  half  dozen  miles  his 
steps  had  been  dogged  by  five  wolves  did  not 
greatly  trouble  John  Carson.  It  made  him 
angry,  however,  and  he  wished  they  would 
get  up  courage  enough  to  come  within  reach 
of  his  axe.  At  last  he  fell  to  thinking  how 
awkward  it  might  be  if  anything  should  hap- 
pen. And  then,  just  as  he  was  thinking  of 
it,  happen  it  did.  The  shivered  top  of  a 
stump,  hidden  by  a  film  of  snow,  caught  his 
snowshoe  in  such  a  way  as  to  trip  him  in  the 
full  swing  of  his  stride  and  hurl  him  headlong 
to  the  bottom  of  a  little  gulch.  As  he  fell 
he  heard  the  snap  of  a  breaking  snowshoe 
frame. 

The  flesh  of  his  nape  crawled,  expecting 
the  crunch  of  teeth.  He  was  up  again  in- 
stantly out  of  the  smother,  facing  the  enemy 


254    THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

and  dashing  the  snow  from  his  eyes.  But  as 
instantly  he  sank  back,  his  right  leg  giving 
way  beneath  him. 

The  wolves  had  darted  forward,  but  had 
not  quite  screwed  up  their  courage  to  attack 
him.  Three  of  them  stood,  with  bared  fangs, 
glaring  down  upon  him,  green-eyed.  A  light- 
ning sweep  of  the  axe-blade  convinced  them 
that  the  man  was  still  too  dangerous  to  meddle 
with,  and  they  shrank  back.  They  knew 
they  could  afford  to  wait.  But  they  did  not 
like  waiting.  Two  or  three  of  them  sat  back 
rather  disconsolately  on  their  haunches  and 
gave  utterance  to  impatient  cries  —  perhaps 
trying  to  summon  others  of  their  tribe  who 
would  enable  them  to  overwhelm  their  quarry 
at  once. 

A  hideous  fear  went  through  John  Carson's 
mind  that  he  had  broken  his  leg  —  that  at 
last,  spent  with  pain  and  deadened  with  the 
creeping  frost,  he  would  no  longer  be  able  to 
fight  off  the  cowardly  pack.  With  his  heart 
thumping  in  his  throat  he  felt  searchingly  at 
the  place  of  his  hurt.  Soon  he  satisfied  him- 
self that  there  were  no  bones  broken.  But 
it  was  plain  that  he  had  wrenched  loose  one 
of  the  great  tendons  of  the  leg.  How  long, 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    255 

he  wondered,  would  it  take  him  to  struggle 
home,  dragging  the  helpless  limb  yard  by 
yard,  hour  by  hour  through  the  drifts  and 
fighting  off  the  wolves,  who  would  grow 
bolder  when  they  came  to  realize  his  plight? 
He  set  his  jaw  doggedly  for  the  battle,  freed 
his  feet  from  the  now  useless  snowshoes  and 
raised  himself  erect  on  one  leg,  using  the 
unbroken  snowshoe  as  a  crutch.  Could  he 
win  through?  Well,  he  would  make  a  great 
fight  for  it. 

As  he  stood  there,  his  sinews  stretching 
with  heroic  wrath,  a  sudden  jangle  of  sleigh- 
bells  came  to  his  ears.  He  shouted  fiercely. 
A  woman's  voice  as  well  as  a  man's  answered 
him.  To  his  astonishment  the  woman's  voice 
was  Amanda's.  But  his  surprise  turned  to  utter 
bewilderment  when,  a  minute  later,  around 
the  turn  of  the  road  came  into  view  a  gigantic 
moose,  ploughing  triumphantly  through  the 
snow  and  drawing  a  loaded  pung  behind 
him.  The  wolves  drew  back  uneasily  at  this 
strange  apparition.  From  the  pung  a  shot 
rang  out,  and  then  another,  and  one  of  the 
wolves  dropped,  kicking  voicelessly.  The 
others  wheeled  and  fled  for  cover,  stretching 
out  belly  to  snow  in  the  frantic  haste  of  their 


256    THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

flight.  The  next  minute  the  strange  equipage 
came  to  a  stand  close  before  him,  the  moose 
snorting  and  shaking  his  head  as  if  taking 
all  the  credit  of  the  victory. 

"Father!  father!"  cried  Amanda  in  a 
voice  that  shook  on  the  edge  of  hysterical 
tears,  as  she  leaped  from  the  pung  and  strug- 
gled to  his  side,  "what  —  what's  the  matter  ?" 

John  Carson's  big-chested  laugh  reassured 
her. 

"It's  jest  a  little  h'ist,  an'  a  game  leg 
thereby,"  said  he.  "But  ye've  happened 
along  mighty  handy,  Sis,  you  an'  your  circus. 
Them  brutes  had  their  own  notions  about 
doctorin'  me,  an'  as  we  couldn't  agree  there 
was  goin'  to  be  trouble." 

"Oh,  dad!"  murmured  Amanda.  And 
then,  overwhelmed  by  the  thought  of  what 
would  have  happened  if  she  had  gone  straight 
on,  instead  of  turning  up  the  Black  River 
road,  she  sat  down  in  the  snow  and  began  to 
cry. 

"There!  there!  Don't  be  scared,  Honey!" 
pleaded  her  father  anxiously.  "It's  all  over. 
They're  all  gone.  An'  everything's  all 
right." 

"I   don't   think   Miss   Carson's   scared,"   said 


THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    257 

Alec  Ross  dryly.  "She's  the  bravest  woman 
in  the  world.  But  she's  a  bit  overstrained. 
Come,  Miss  Carson,  if  you'll  turn  your  beast 
around  we'll  help  your  father  into  the  pung 
and  get  him  home  as  quickly  as  possible." 

The  drive  home  did  not  seem  long  to  either 
Alec  Ross  or  Amanda;  nor,  for  all  his  suffer- 
ing, did  big  John  Carson  let  it  appear  that  it 
seemed  long  to  him.  If  his  face  went  white 
from  time  to  time  at  the  torturing  lunges  of 
the  pung  among  the  drifts  it  could  not  be 
seen,  and  his  strong  voice  maintained  its 
cheer.  He  had  much  to  ask  about,  much  to 
be  told,  in  order  to  understand  the  happy 
miracle  of  Amanda's  appearance  so  in  the 
nick  of  time.  When  the  sound  of  their  bells 
and  voices  summoned  Mrs.  Carson  to  the 
door,  and  in  the  streaming  light  she  saw  her 
husband  being  almost  lifted  from  the  pung 
between  Amanda  and  young  Ross,  she  darted 
out  into  the  snow  with  a  scream.  But  her 
terror  was  forgotten  in  thankfulness  and  joy 
when  she  heard  the  story  of  his  rescue. 

After  supper,  when  Alec  Ross  rose  to  get 
ready  for  the  long  tramp  into  Brine  Settle- 
ment, there  was  vehement  protest  from  both 
John  Carson  and  his  wife. 


258    THE   MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED 

"You  don't  quit  my  house  this  night,  lad," 
thundered  Carson. 

"The  idee!"  snapped  Mrs.  Carson  with 
cordial  heat.  "After  all  you've  been  through 
these  last  two  days !  If  you  must  git  into 
the  Settlement,  why  it'll  be  time  enough  to 
start  to-morrow  mornin',  surely!" 

"You  would  be  perfectly  crazy  to  start 
to-night,"  said  Amanda. 

"An'  why  not  stop  over  with  us  for  Christ- 
mas, anyways?"  urged  John  Carson,  who 
could  not  imagine  any  place  more  attractive 
than  this  backwoods  home  of  his  from  which 
he  had  to  be  so  much  away.  "We'll  take 
good  care  of  ye  here,  an'  give  ye  lots  of  plum 
puddin'  an'  doughnuts  —  won't  we,  mother  ? 
Take  my  advice,  young  man,  an'  stay  right 
where  ye  are  !  " 

"But,  dad,"  protested  Amanda,  "you 
forget  that  Mr.  Ross  may  have  friends  of 
his  own  in  at  the  Settlement,  so  he  may  not 
be  able  to  spare  us  so  much  of  his  time." 

"If  you  hain't  got  any  special,  particular 
reason  for  hurryin'  off  to-morrow  you'd  better 
stay  over!"  said  Mrs.  Carson.  "We  sure 
want  you." 

Alec    Ross    hesitated,    boyishly    in    doubt    as 


THE  MOOSE  THAT  KNOCKED    259 

to  whether  he  might  allow  himself  to  accept 
the  tempting  invitation.  His  eyes  sought 
Amanda's,  but  she  would  not  meet  them. 

"It  was  just  'for  Christmas'  I  was  going 
in,"  he  answered.  Then,  rather  hurriedly: 
"I  have  no  reasons  half  as  great  for  wanting 
to  go  to  the  Settlement  as  I  have  for  wanting 
to  stay  here." 

"Then  please  stay!"  said  Amanda,  getting 
up  quickly  from  her  place  by  the  lamp  to 
hide  the  flush  which  she  felt  mounting  to  her 
cheeks. 


Puck  o'   the  Dusk 

Bat,  bat,  come  under  my  hat, 

And  I  will  give  you  a  slice  of  bacon. 

SO  sings  Mother  Goose,  with  that  airy 
irrelevancy,  that  unblushing  disregard 
of  probability,  which  make  her  so  fascinating 
a  companion  to  the  wise,  but  so  dangerous,  so 
misleading  a  guide  to  the  ardent  young  mind 
in  search  of  facts.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
context  to  show  why  the  lady,  unlike  all  other 
ladies  who  have  ever  lived,  should  invite  the 
bat  to  come  under  her  hat,  or  even  be  able  to 
contemplate  without  shrieks  the  possibility 
of  a  bat  coming  under  her  hat.  It  may  be 
but  another  instance  of  that  wilfulness,  that 
indifference  to  convention,  which  she  displays 
in  almost  all  her  poems.  Or  it  may  be  that  she 
wanted  to  show  how  much  braver  she  was 
than  all  other  women.  In  either  case,  we  may 
be  sure  that  she  never  intended  the  bat  to 
accept  her  invitation.  The  inducement  which 

260 


PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK  261 

she  offered  was  one  which  no  bat  in  the  world 
would  give  a  "  tinker's  damn"  for.  And 
being,  for  all  her  eccentricities,  a  lady  of  wide 
and  varied  knowledge,  she  doubtless  knew  that 
about  the  last  place  in  the  world  where  any 
bat  would  go  was  under  a  hat  —  any  hat,  no 
matter  how  enchanting  the  face  beneath  it. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  merely  poking  a  little 
sly  fun  at  her  sisters  of  the  Universal  Feminine 
for  their  frantic  delusion  that  a  bat  would  like 
to  get  into  their  hair.  Mother  Goose  knew 
very  well  that  nothing  but  superior  force,  un- 
scrupulously employed,  would  make  a  bat  en- 
tangle himself  in  any  woman's  hair,  however 
bewildering. 

It  was  not  of  hats,  or  of  hair,  indeed,  that 
Puck  o'  the  Dusk  was  thinking,  as  he  zigzagged 
through  the  purple  twilight  under  the  thick- 
leaved,  overhanging  boughs.  Gnats,  for  the 
moment,  were  all  his  thought.  The  long,  still 
hours  of  the  golden  summer  day  he  had 
slept  away  very  pleasantly,  hanging  from 
the  edge  of  a  warped  board  far  up  in  the 
shadowy  peak  of  the  old  barn  in  the  meadow. 
Other  brown  bats  had  hung  there  beside  him, 
suspended,  like  him,  by  their  long,  hooked 
nails,  and  demurely  sheathed,  like  him,  in  the 


262  PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK 

silken  dusky  membrane  of  their  folded  wings. 
It  was  a  popular  dormitory  for  the  bats,  up 
there  in  the  dim  peak,  for  the  edge  of  that 
warped  board  gave  a  convenient  place  where- 
on to  attach  themselves;  and,  consequently, 
there  had  been  some  crowding.  From  time 
to  time  one  or  another,  finding  himself 
squeezed,  would  wake  up  and  squeak  and  prod 
his  neighbour  with  the  bony  elbow  of  his  wing, 
and  chatter  protestingly  in  a  tiny  voice  — 
very  tiny,  but  thinly  harsh  and  vibrant,  like 
the  winding  of  a  dollar  watch.  Puck  himself, 
who  chanced  to  hang  on  the  very  end  of  the 
row,  next  to  the  wide  crack  in  the  gable  which 
gave  exit  to  the  outer  air,  had  more  than  once 
been  almost  crowded  from  his  perch,  so  that 
he  had  had  to  do  rather  more  than  his  share 
of  waking  up,  elbowing,  and  watch-winding. 
Once  or  twice,  too,  in  this  unwonted  wakeful- 
ness,  he  had  been  annoyed  by  the  sight  of  a 
large  rat,  prowling  along  a  big  beam  far  beneath 
him  and  glaring  up  at  him  with  cruel,  beady 
eyes.  He  loathed  rats,  but,  knowing  himself 
securely  out  of  this  one's  reach,  he  had  not 
been  alarmed.  He  had  folded  himself  up  in 
his  wings  and  gone  to  sleep  again,  even  while 
the  enemy  was  looking  at  him.  So,  on  the 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  263 

whole,  the  day  had  gone  by  pleasantly  enough. 
As  the  afternoon  drew  on,  he  had  roused  himself 
several  times  to  scramble  flutteringly  over  to 
the  crack  in  the  gable  and  take  a  glance  out 
at  the  weather,  till  at  last,  when  the  sun  had 
fairly  sunk  behind  the  low  hills  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream,  he  had  sidled  through  the 
crack  and  launched  himself  upon  the  gold-and- 
violet  dusk.  Within  ten  minutes  he  had  been 
followed  by  all  the  other  occupants  of  the  dor- 
mitory, and  the  peak  of  the  old  barn  was  left 
empty. 

He  was  a  strange-looking  creature,  the  little 
brown  bat  —  a  mixture  of  bird  and  mouse  and 
goblin,  droll,  yet  sinister  —  an  impish  Puck  who 
drowsed  away  the  hours  of  sun,  and  awoke  at 
dusk  to  whimsical  and  eccentric  activities. 
His  insignificant  body,  covered  with  a  short 
brown  fur  of  exquisite  fineness,  was  hung 
between  two  immense  wings  of  sooty-dark 
membrane.  This  membrane,  more  elastic 
than  the  finest  rubber,  was  stretched,  like 
silk  over  an  umbrella  frame,  upon  the  enor- 
mously developed  arm  and  finger-bones  of  the 
fore-limbs.  The  two  wings  were  joined  to- 
gether at  the  tail,  and  connected  with  the  frail 
hind-legs  as  far  down  as  the  knees,  which 


264  PUCK  OJ  THE  DUSK 

seemed  to  bend  in  the  wrong  direction.  Be- 
tween the  powerful  shoulder-blades  was  set  a 
curious  little  shapeless  head,  with  a  pug  of  a 
nose,  whimsically  wide  and  crooked  mouth, 
big  flat  ears,  and  tiny,  beadlike,  impishly- 
glittering  black  eyes. 

Awkward  and  grotesque  as  he  was  when 
swinging  from  his  perch  or  scrambling  up  the 
boarding,  the  moment  he  launched  himself 
upon  the  twilight  air,  Puck  o'  the  Dusk  pre- 
sented a  masterly,  though  still  fantastic,  figure. 
With  a  combined  spread  and  flexibility  of 
wing  such  as,  weight  for  weight,  no  bird  could 
match,  his  evolutions  in  the  air  were  of  a 
miraculous  alertness.  Flying  at  top  speed  in  a 
straight  line,  he  could  drop  instantly  like  a 
stone,  or  dart  upwards  at  apparently  right 
angles  to  his  course,  as  if  shot  from  a  catapult. 
A  dizzying  and  bewildering  zigzag  seemed  to 
be  his  natural  flight,  and  he  could  dodge  in  a 
fashion  that  would  put  even  the  sparrowhawk 
to  shame.  And  this,  indeed,  was  well.  For 
the  darting,  dancing  gnats  and  other  swift 
insects  were  Puck's  prey,  and  the  pouncing 
owls  his  peculiar  enemy. 

To-night,  as  he  swung  along  the  scented 
trees  by  the  water,  the  windless  air  was  full 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  265 

of  insects  —  gnats,  early  night-moths,  and  the 
first  blundering  cockchafers.  Being  hungry, 
he  hawked  ravenously  at  everything  he  saw. 
But  as  the  dusk  gathered,  and  the  edge  passed 
off  his  appetite,  he  grew  more  fastidious.  He 
would  let  many  dainties,  easily  to  be  had,  slip 
from  his  very  lips,  and  amuse  himself  by 
flickering  off  in  quest  of  the  more  nearly  un- 
attainable. Once,  catching  sight  of  a  highfly- 
ing moth  far  above  the  tree-tops,  silhouetted, 
to  his  keen  vision,  against  the  pale  violet  sky, 
he  shot  upward  swift  as  thought,  snatched 
the  prize  from  the  very  beak  of  a  swooping 
night-jar,  and  was  gone  before  the  disap- 
pointed bird  could  realize  who  had  forestalled 
her.  Again,  dropping  headlong,  he  snapped 
a  cockchafer  off  a  bending  grass-head,  just  as  it 
was  spreading  its  wings  to  fly,  to  the  furious 
indignation  of  a  shrew  which  had  been  stalk- 
ing the  insect,  and  was  on  the  very  point  of 
springing  up  at  it.  It  is  probable  that  Puck's 
eyes,  to  which  the  twilight  was  clear  as  crystal, 
had  marked  the  prowling  shrew  in  the  grass, 
and  that  he  took  a  whimsical  delight  in  snatch- 
ing the  prize.  Even  the  darting  swifts 
were  sometimes  befooled  in  this  way,  as 
an  elusive  shadow  would  flicker  past  them 


266  PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK 

and  the  all-but-captured  moth  mysteriously 
vanish. 

Soon,  as  the  violet  light  paled  from  the  sky, 
Puck  o'  the  Dusk  deserted  his  meadow  and 
flew  downstream,  over  field  and  hedge,  to  a 
spacious  garden,  with  lawns  and  flower-beds, 
and  a  wide-verandahed  house  set  in  deep  trees. 
Here  the  bland  summer  night  was  drawing 
forth  an  intoxication  of  perfume  from  the  dew- 
wet  roses  and  stocks,  the  Japan  lilies,  and 
the  spicy-breathed  carnations;  and  hither,  en- 
ticed by  the  honey  scents,  the  insects  of  the 
night  came  in  swarms.  Up  and  down  the  wide 
path  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  under  the  trees 
by  the  water-side,  a  man  and  a  girl  were  walk- 
ing, the  girPs  white  dress  glimmering  softly 
in  the  shadows. 

In  this  pleasant  spot  Puck  was  joined  by 
another  little  brown  bat,  a  female,  perhaps  his 
mate,  assuredly  his  playmate.  He  has  not 
yet  revealed  enough  of  his  intimacies  and 
domestic  habits  to  enable  one  to  speak  confi- 
dently on  this  point.  For  a  little  while  the 
two  seemed  to  weave  leisurely  dances  in  the 
air,  circling  around  and  over  and  beneath  each 
other,  and  from  time  to  time  swinging  apart 
on  long,  dizzying  tangents,  to  meet  again  un- 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  267 

erringly  at  some  aerial  point  of  rendezvous. 
The  female  flew  less  lightly,  less  erratically, 
than  Puck  himself;  and  if  one  could  have 
observed  her  at  close  quarters  in  a  good  light, 
one  would  have  seen  that,  however  playful,  she 
was  a  most  faithful  and  devoted  little  mother, 
carrying  her  two  babies  with  her  through  all  her 
frivolling.  The  little  ones  managed,  in  some 
strange  way,  to  cling  about  her  neck,  so  se- 
curely that  not  her  swiftest  whirlings,  her  most 
breathless  swooping  swings,  ran  any  risk  of 
dislodging  them.  But  it  must  have  been  a 
lively  experience  for  the  infants,  who  were  yet 
too  young  to  be  left  at  home  in  the  barn, 
where  a  prowling  mouse  might  find  them. 

In  the  midst  of  their  play,  from  somewhere 
out  of  space,  a  wide-winged,  noiseless  shape 
swept  down  upon  them.  Two  enormous  eyes, 
perfectly  round,  fixed,  and  palely  luminous, 
glared  at  them,  and  huge  claws,  clutching 
hideously,  snatched  at  them,  this  way  and 
that,  in  dreadful  silence.  Both  Puck  and  the 
little  mother  succeeded  in  escaping  the  grasp- 
ing claws,  so  lightning  swift  was  their  evasion, 
as  if,  indeed,  they  had  been  blown  aside  like 
leaves  by  the  owl's  attack.  Instantly  they 
vanished  deep  among  the  branches,  and  the  dis- 


268  PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK 

appointed  owl  winnowed  onward  to  seek  some 
quarry  less  elusive.  In  a  moment  or  two  the 
bats  fluttered  forth  again.  But,  though  un- 
daunted, they  felt  the  need  of  caution  while 
the  enemy  was  still  in  the  neighbourhood.  So 
they  betook  themselves  for  their  play  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  garden,  where  the  man  and 
the  girl  were  walking,  and  began  circling  and 
dancing  about  their  preoccupied  heads.  They 
considered  human  beings  harmless,  and  quite 
useful  to  keep  away  owls. 

Suddenly,  to  Puck's  amazement,  the  girl 
gave  a  tiny  shriek,  and  hurriedly  twisted  her 
light  silken  scarf  about  her  fair  head  till  she 
looked  like  a  Pitti  Madonna. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  nervously,  "there's  another 
of  those  dreadful  bats  trying  to  get  into  my 
hair !" 

The  man  laughed  softly  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Silly  one,"  said  he,  "the  bat  couldn't  be 
persuaded  to  get  into  even  your  hair!  He 
would  have  the  poor  taste  to  consider  it  most 
annoying." 

"Oh,  but  he  might  blunder  into  it  by  mis- 
take," persisted  the  girl,  her  wide  eyes  follow- 
ing apprehensively,  from  the  shelter  of  his  arm, 
the  evolutions  of  the  two  dancing  shadows. 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  269 

"You  know  they  are  almost  blind.  And 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  Nurse  told  me  that  if 
ever  a  bat  got  into  my  hair,  I'd  have  to  have 
it  all  cut  off,  because  he  would  be  so  snarled 
up  in  it  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  getting 
him  out." 

"Nurse  knew  a  tremendous  lot  of  things  that 
weren't  so,  I  should  imagine,"  rejoined  the 
man.  "You  will  save  yourself  much  anxiety, 
sweet,  on  summer  evenings,  if  you  bear  in  mind 
that  bats  are  as  far  as  possible  from  being 
blind.  They  are  marvellously  keen-sighted,  and 
they  never  blunder,  but  fly  and  dodge  with 
an  accuracy  far  beyond  that  of  any  bird. 
Either  of  those  little  chaps  fluttering  around  us 
now  could  pick  a  gnat  off  the  tip  of  your  small, 
delectable  nose  without  so  much  as  grazing 
you  with  his  wing." 

"Oh!"  said  the  girl  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
"But  I  don't  like  them,  anyhow.  I  wish 
they  would  go  away." 

"Like  all  the  world,  they  hasten  to  gratify 
your  slightest  wish!"  responded  the  man, 
laughing  again.  For,  even  at  the  girl's  last 
words,  both  Puck  and  his  playmate  had  swung 
away  and  vanished  among  the  tree-tops. 

It  was  not  that  they  understood  English,  or 


270  PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK 

had  received  upon  their  sensitive  nerve  centres 
a  telepathic  message  from  the  girl's  aversion. 
Not  at  all.  The  fact  was  simply  that  the 
little  mother  had  grown  tired,  from  the  weight 
of  her  babies  hanging  to  her  neck,  and  had 
flown  off  to  find  a  safe  branch  whereon  to  hide 
them  for  a  few  moments. 

High  up  in  the  dark  top  of  a  pine  tree, 
the  cup-like  hollow  of  a  forked  bough  received 
the  two  young  ones,  who,  at  some  injunction 
from  their  mother,  flattened  their  tiny  forms 
to  the  bark  and  clung  fast  to  its  roughness. 
There  could  be  no  danger  for  them  here, 
thought  the  little  mother.  So  she  left  them,  to 
rest  her  wings  for  a  few  minutes  in  unburdened 
flight,  and  to  sup  again  on  a  few  more  gnats 
and  moths.  Puck  had  watched  her  deposit 
her  babies  on  the  branch,  and  now  flew  off 
with  her  light-heartedly  to  forage  above  the 
flower-beds. 

They  had  not  been  away  for  more  than  five 
minutes,  when  the  little  mother  suddenly  got 
it  into  her  head  that  her  babies  wanted  her. 
On  a  swinging  upward  curve  she  sped  in  haste 
back  to  the  pine-top,  and  Puck,  after  a  second's 
hesitation,  followed  at  her  tiny  heels. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  a  weasel,  his  cruel  eye? 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  271 

red  with,  rage  and  lust  of  blood,  was  hunting 
in  the  pine  tree.  He  had  just  lost  the  trail 
of  a  squirrel,  which  he  had  been  pursuing  so 
closely  that  he  had  counted  it  already  his. 
He  had  fairly  imagined  his  teeth  in  the  poor 
chatterer's  throat,  when,  by  some  miracle  of 
the  night  —  and  night  among  the  wild  kindreds 
is  full  of  miracles  —  quarry  and  trail  had 
disappeared.  It  was  in  the  pine  tree  it  had 
happened,  and  the  furious  hunter  was  quest- 
ing all  over  the  tree  for  the  lost  scent,  deter- 
mined that  his  malignancy  should  not  be 
balked.  In  his  search  he  ran,  sinuous  and 
swift  as  a  snake,  out  along  that  high  branch 
in  one  of  whose  outer  forks  the  little  bat  had 
left  her  babies. 

Now,  Puck  o'  the  Dusk,  in  all  his  short  life, 
had  never  had  a  real  difference  of  opinion  with 
anything  more  formidable  than  a  hawk-moth 
or  a  cockchafer.  He  knew  vaguely  what  an 
irresistible  and  terrible  monster  was  that  long, 
dark  shape  on  the  branch,  yet  he  did  not 
hesitate.  The  weasel  was  astounded  to  feel 
a  hard  wing-tip  drawn  sharply  across  his  face. 
With  a  thin  snarl  he  sprang  upward  half  the 
length  of  his  body,  snapping  at  his  audacious 
insulter.  But  his  long,  white  teeth  closed  on 


272  PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK 

empty  air,  and  he  nearly  lost  his  balance  on  the 
branch.  As  he  recovered  himself,  bursting 
with  fury,  he  saw  behind  him,  almost  within 
reach,  a  dark  little  fluttering  shadow  appar- 
ently sprawling  on  the  branch,  like  a  wounded 
night-jar.  Doubling  on  himself  as  lithely  as 
an  eel,  he  darted  like  a  jet  of  flame  upon  the 
insolent  little  shadow.  But  even  as  he  did  so, 
it  was  gone;  and  a  few  feet  below  the  branch 
he  saw  Puck  o'  the  Dusk  flitting  leisurely  to 
and  fro.  His  narrow-set  eyes  blazed  like  live 
coals,  and  he  gnashed  his  long  white  fangs  at 
the  indignity  of  having  been  so  flouted  by  a 
paltry  bat.  But  while  he  glared  down  at  his 
small  challenger,  the  little  mother  had  safely 
gathered  her  droll  babies  to  her  neck  and 
sailed  off  with  them  through  the  gloom.  For 
the  moment,  after  such  an  experience,  she 
had  had  enough  of  frivolling.  She  thought 
only  of  getting  her  babies  back  into  their  safe 
cranny  in  the  roof  of  the  barn,  where  she  could 
nurse  them,  and  lick  their  silky  fur,  and  clean 
the  dainty  membranes  of  their  delicate  little 
wings  by  passing  them  carefully  between  her 
lips. 

Left  once  more  to  himself,  Puck  o'  the  Dusk, 
perhaps  excited  and  over-daring  from  his  sue- 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  273 

cessful  adventure  with  the  weasel,  promptly 
fell  foul  of  another  novel  experience.  Close 
in  front  of  the  house  he  chased  a  big  moth, 
which  was  flying  with  unwonted  swiftness. 
Hard  pressed,  it  flew  straight  into  the  dark- 
ness of  a  wide-open  window.  Puck  followed 
audaciously.  He  caught  the  fugitive  as  it 
bumped  up  against  the  ceiling.  In  the  same 
instant  a  maid  shut  the  window.  Then,  with- 
out noticing  the  intruder,  she  went  out  and 
shut  the  door. 

Puck,  thinking  to  go  out  as  easily  as  he  had 
come  in,  flew  hard  against  the  pale  glimmer  of 
the  glass.  He  was  a  little  dazed,  and  very 
much  astonished.  Again,  and  yet  once  again, 
he  tried  to  penetrate  the  hard,  invisible  barrier, 
but  not  blindly,  or  in  panic  violence,  as  a  bird 
would  have  done.  He  kept  his  head  even  in 
this  startling  and  unprecedented  emergency. 
His  keen  vision,  after  the  first  shock  of  sur- 
prise, differentiated  the  glass  from  the  airy 
space  beyond,  and  he  coolly  gave  up  essaying 
the  impossible.  Then  he  devoted  himself  to  a 
minute  examination  of  every  hole  and  corner 
in  the  room;  yet  so  accurate  was  he  in  sight 
and  flight  alike,  that  though  the  room  was 
full  of  dainty  bibelots  and  fragile  knick-knacks, 


274  PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK 

the  beating  of  his  wings  disturbed  nothing. 
He  went  under  every  piece  of  furniture,  behind 
every  picture,  and  investigated  persistently 
the  screen  which  closed  the  fireplace  for  the 
summer.  In  the  course  of  this  minute  ex- 
ploration he  routed  out  an  unexpected  variety 
of  insects,  and  he  was  by  no  means  too  per- 
turbed to  devour  all  such  dainties  that  fell 
to  his  lot. 

The  night  passed  in  this  way,  with  some 
anxiety,  indeed,  but  without  monotony. 
When  dawn  came  grey  through  the  window, 
and  the  colour  began  to  return  to  the  glowing 
geranium-beds,  then  Puck  relinquished  his 
vain  quest,  but  not  in  despair,  by  any  means. 
Day  for  him  was  the  time  to  go  to  bed.  Hang- 
ing himself  up  comfortably  in  a  fold  of  the 
heavy  portieres  at  one  end  of  the  room,  he 
went  to  sleep  with  as  philosophical  a  compo- 
sure as  if  he  had  been  on  his  board  under  the 
peak  of  the  old  barn. 

A  few  hours  later  two  housemaids  came 
into  the  room  and  fell  to  cleaning  it.  In  the 
course  of  this  operation  they  took  down  the 
portieres.  They  shook  them  in  a  haphazard 
way,  preparatory  to  folding  them  up.  To 
their  consternation,  out  fell  Puck  o'  the  Dusk. 


PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK  275 

Their  screams  at  the  sight  of  this  monster, 
nearly  four  inches  long,  brought  in  the  man  who 
had  been  walking  in  the  garden  with  the  girl 
the  night  before.  He  was  in  riding-breeches 
and  gloves.  Puck,  only  half  awake,  and  very 
angry  at  having  been  so  rudely  disturbed, 
sat  up  on  the  rug  with  wings  half  outspread 
and  tiny  black  eyes  sparkling.  The  expres- 
sion of  his  opinions  to  the  housemaids  was  as 
vehement  as  he  could  make  it,  and  sounded 
something  like  the  winding  of  a  very  large  and 
very  insufficiently  oiled  dollar  watch.  '• 

"Good  Heavens,  Jane,"  exclaimed  the 
man,  "I  thought  that  you  and  Grace  must 
have  unearthed  at  least  a  hippopotamus,  from 
the  row  you're  making !  Do  you  think  that 
this  poor  little  bat  is  going  to  eat  you?" 

He  stooped  to  pick  Puck  up,  but  the  little 
fellow  sputtered  at  him  shrilly,  and  snapped 
at  him  with  such  defiance  that  the  man  was 
glad  of  his  thick  gloves.  The  maids  tittered. 

"See  there,  sir!"  said  Jane  audaciously. 
"He'd  eat  us  if  he  could,  he's  that  savage!" 

"He  certainly  is  a  plucky  little  devil,"  said 
the  man,  as  he  lifted  him  gently  in  his  gloved 
hands  and  carried  him  to  the  window. 

Puck    was    very    wide    awake    now,    and    his 


276  PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK 

watch-winding  was  shrill  with  indignation 
over  his  imprisonment  in  the  man's  hands. 
At  the  window  the  man  released  him.  The 
glare  of  full  daylight  dazzled  him,  but,  shutting 
his  eyes  to  a  hair-like  slit,  almost  invisible,  he 
could  make  out  the  landscape  quite  clearly. 
In  an  instant  he  had  launched  himself,  and  in 
the  next  he  was  fluttering  among  the  nearest 
branches.  Keeping  as  far  as  possible  among 
the  trees,  he  made  for  the  water's  edge,  and  so 
along  the  meadows  to  the  old  barn.  A  minute 
or  two  later  he  was  hanging  himself  up,  un- 
ruffled, beside  his  sleeping  comrades  in  the 
warm  brown  gloom  of  the  peak. 

In  the  ordinary  course  of  events,  Puck 
would  now  have  settled  himself  to  sleep  away 
the  rest  of  the  daylight.  But  this  twenty- 
four  hours  was  destined  to  be  a  crowded  time 
for  him.  On  the  narrow,  topmost  rafter, 
just  a  few  feet  below  him,  he  observed  his  play- 
mate of  the  previous  evening,  the  little  mother 
with  her  two  babies.  She  had  deposited  them 
on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  beam,  while  she 
herself  was  occupied  with  her  toilet  —  a  matter 
which  is  of  as  much  concern  to  a  bat  as  it  is  to 
the  daintiest  of  cats.  With  amazing  expert- 
ness  she  would  scratch  herself  behind  the  ears 


PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK  277 

with  the  clawed  tips  of  her  wing-elbows,  and 
comb  the  fur  on  apparently  inaccessible  por- 
tions of  her  body.  Then  she  would  take  her 
wing  membranes,  first  one,  then  the  other, 
and  stretch  them,  examine  them,  pass  them 
between  her  teeth,  and  lick  them,  till  there 
could  be  no  question  as  to  their  immaculate- 
ness. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied,  one  of  the 
swallows  from  the  mud  nests  under  the  eaves 
darted  hastily  up  into  the  peak  in  pursuit  of  a 
big  purple  bee.  The  desperate  insect,  just 
evading  its  pursuer  in  the  peak,  boomed  down- 
wards close  over  the  rafter,  almost  grazing 
the  baby  bats  as  he  passed.  The  swallow, 
dashing  after  him  recklessly,  more  than  grazed 
the  little  sprawlers.  He  brushed  them  so 
rudely  that  they  were  swept  clean  off  the 
rafter.  Untaught  as  yet  to  fly,  they  never- 
theless spread  instinctively  their  fragile  wings, 
and  fell  flutteringly,  like  two  dead  oak  leaves, 
to  the  floor  below. 

The  barn  floor,  fortunately,  was  littered  thick 
with  the  seeds  and  tips  and  refuse  of  last 
year's  hay,  so  the  babies  landed  softly  and 
were  not  hurt.  But  they  landed  far  apart, 
as  two  whirling  leaves  might  have  done.  The 


278  PUCK  O'  THE  DUSK 

mother,  who  at  the  moment  of  the  accident 
was  fairly  enveloped  in  the  folds  of  her  wings, 
disengaged  herself  frantically  and  swooped 
downwards  after  them.  Then  Puck,  grown 
enterprising  from  his  late  adventures,  came 
zigzagging  down  in  her  wake  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  he  could  do. 

There  was,  and  that  instantly.  The  big 
rat  who  lived  under  the  barn  floor  was  just 
coming  out  of  his  hole.  He  thought  he  had 
seen  something  fall,  and  though  he  did  not 
know  what  it  was,  he  came  scuttling  forward 
with  high  hopes.  It  might,  he  thought,  be  a 
young  swallow  dropped  or  crowded  out  of  its 
nest,  and  he  liked  young  swallows,  for  variety. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  distracted  by  a 
light  blow  on  his  head.  It  was  a  bat,  which 
had  apparently  almost  dropped  upon  his  back. 
He  was  not  angry  —  quite  the  contrary  —  he 
was  immensely  interested.  He  had  never 
eaten  a  bat,  though  he  had  often  wanted  to; 
and  here,  seemingly,  was  his  chance,  for  this 
bat  appeared  to  be  hurt  or  sick.  He  jumped 
up  at  it.  He  missed  it,  to  be  sure,  but  not  by 
so  very  much;  and  the  bat  was  still  fluttering 
feebly  almost  within  his  reach.  Again  and 
again  he  sprang,  his  long,  white  teeth  snapping 


PUCK  O'  THE   DUSK  279 

together  with  a  horrid  click,  but  catching 
nothing,  till  presently  he  found  himself  once 
more  over  by  the  hole  in  the  corner  whence  he 
had  just  emerged.  Then,  to  his  disgust,  the 
feebly  fluttering  shape  which  had  seemed  just 
within  his  clutch  went  darting  off  on  strong 
wings  to  the  roof,  while  another  bat  rose 
whirling  from  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with 
two  little  ones  clinging  to  her  neck. 

Baffled  and  sullen,  the  rat  crept  out  into  the 
grass  to  console  himself  with  easy  grasshoppers; 
while  Puck  o'  the  Dusk,  swelling  with  triumph, 
swung  back  to  his  high  perch.  What  with  owls 
and  weasels,  moths  and  men  and  rats,  he  felt 
far  from  his  customary  drowsiness;  so  he  set 
himself  to  a  toilet  elaborate  and  minute,  as  be- 
fitted a  brown  bat  of  his  achievements. 


A   Harassed   Householder 

A  LTHOUGH  he  had  never  had  the  advan- 
-/jL  tage  of  reading  a  bargain  sale  adver- 
tisement, the  big  fur  seal  needed  no  exhorta- 
tion to  come  early  and  avoid  the  rush.  This 
was  his  second  season  as  a  full-grown  bull, 
the  responsible  freeholder  of  a  patch  of  naked 
rock-ledge  on  the  skirts  of  an  island  in  Bering 
Sea. 

The  preceding  season  he  had  been  late  in 
coming  north;  and  so,  for  all  his  wrath  and 
his  battle  prowess,  he  had  fared  poorly,  as 
to  both  location  and  wives.  He  had  been 
forced  to  content  himself  with  a  mean  and 
exposed  shelf  of  rock  far  back  from  the  water, 
and  with  a  paltry  harem  of  three  mild-eyed 
but  more  or  less  dilapidated  little  mates. 
These  three,  captured,  after  ferocious  battles, 
from  two  of  the  neighbouring  bulls,  had  suf- 
fered much  mishandling  in  the  contest  over 
their  submissive  charms,  and  their  usually 

280 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    281 

sleek  coats  showed  a  wear  and  tear  that  would 
have  daunted  the  cleverest  furrier  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix. 

Remembering,     therefore,     all    the    price    he 
had  paid   for  being  late,   this   bull   of   the   fur 
seals    had    early   grown    restless    in    the   purple 
southern   seas,   and   turned   his   face   northward 
betimes.     Up    along   the    steep   and    thundering 
coasts   of    California   and   Oregon,    through   the 
tremendous    Pacific     rollers,     he     swam    stead- 
fastly, now  darting  like  a  fish,  now  gliding  at 
terrific    speed   with    a    sinuous,    oily   succession 
of  fine  curves,  as  if  making  of  his  whole  pliant 
body   a   mighty   screw   to   propel   him   through 
the    water.     For    the    most    part,    intent    upon 
his   journey,    he   swam   at   some   little   distance 
below   the   surface,   thrusting  up   his  whiskered 
muzzle    from    time    to    time    to    breathe,    and 
catching    as    he    went,    in    those    teeming    seas, 
fish    enough    to    satisfy    even    his    unsleeping 
appetite  for  fish.     But  every  now  and  then  he 
and  his  fellow- voyagers  —  for  he  had   the  com- 
pany   of    other    wise    bulls    on    his    northward 
quest  —  would   stop    and    spend    some   precious 
time  in  basking  or  lazy  play  under  the  seduc- 
tive spring  sun,  as  if,  for  the  moment,  a  wave  of 
oblivion  had  swept  over  their  brains,  and  they 


282    A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER 

had     forgotten     the     urgency     of     their     pur- 
pose. 

In  the  main  it  was  a  care-free  journey,  this 
migration  of  the  advance-guard  of  the  seal. 
All  full-grown  bulls,  fierce  and  agile,  their 
bodies,  some  six  feet  or  more  in  length,  one 
mass  of  lithe  and  corded  muscle,  they  had 
few  enemies  to  fear  even  in  those  dangerous 
southern  waters.  No  shark  could  catch  them 
unless  through  carelessness  of  their  own; 
and  with  his  superior  speed  and  his  marvellous 
suppleness  in  dodging,  a  great  bull  seal  was 
capable  of  making  things  more  or  less  un- 
pleasant for  the  clumsy  shark.  He  dreaded, 
however,  that  lightning-swift  and  merciless 
assassin,  the  sword-fish,  flashing  up  out  of  the 
deeps  without  warning.  And  he  was  always 
keenly  on  the  watch  for  that  black-and-white 
shape  of  doom,  the  dreadful  orca,  or  " killer" 
whale.  The  worst  enemies  of  the  northward- 
moving  seals,  however  —  those  unscrupulous 
marauders,  the  poaching  pelagic  sealers  —  left 
him  and  his  fellows  severely  alone,  because  his 
fur,  coarse  and  battle-scarred,  was  valueless. 
These  rascals  were  far  behind,  waiting  for  the 
sleek  young  cows  and  for  the  rich-furred  two- 
year-old  and  three-year-old  young  bulls  —  the 


A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER    283 

"bachelors,"  as  they  are  called  by  the  hunters 
of  the  seal. 

But  though  no  pirate  poachers  approached 
to  harass  his  journey,  before  he  had  passed 
beyond  the  long  stretch  of  the  British  Colum- 
bian coast,  the  big  seal  got  one  serious  fright. 
Somewhere  off  the  Queen  Charlotte  Islands  a 
Canadian  Government  cutter,  little,  but  busy 
and  keen  as  a  terrier  after  rats,  steamed  in 
among  the  herd.  The  big  bull  dived  deep, 
straight  down  into  the  dim  green  glimmer, 
terrified  by  the  darting  black  bulk  and  the 
fiercely  churning  screw,  and  the  rest  of  the 
herd  scattered  in  panic.  But  not  before  the 
Canadian  commander  had  had  time  to  satisfy 
himself  that  this  was  but  the  advance-guard  of 
old  bulls,  and  that  he  must  seek  his  quarry, 
the  poaching  sealers,  further  to  the  south. 

After  this,  the  big  seal  swerved  far  to  the 
westward,  following  the  vast  sweep  of  the 
Alaskan  coast.  In  his  growing  eagerness,  he 
kept  to  the  very  forefront  of  the  vanguard, 
and  so,  rounding  the  tip  of  Alaska,  he  passed 
through  the  chain  of  the  Aleutian  Islands, 
where  they  stretch  out  like  stepping-stones 
toward  the  neighbour  continent,  and  came  into 
the  shallow  tides  of  Bering  Sea.  Hitherto, 


284    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER 

his  journey  had  been  singularly  uneventful; 
but  just  here  he  ran  into  an  adventure  that 
came  near  bringing  his  career  to  an  abrupt, 
inglorious  end. 

In  the  estuary  of  a  bleak  Arctic  stream  he 
encountered  a  vast  shoal  of  salmon  heading  up 
for  the  spawning-beds.  It  was  one  of  those 
occasions  when  the  most  self-contained  of  seals 
might  be  pardoned  for  a  flurry  of  excitement. 
The  whole  herd  went  wild.  It  was  the  Feast 
of  the  Salmon.  Through  the  packed,  silvery 
shoal  the  great,  lithe,  black,  glistening  bodies 
darted  hither  and  thither,  killing,  in  a  sort  of 
delirium,  many  times  more  than  they  could 
devour,  till  the  pallid,  murky  flood  was  stained 
in  wide  patches  to  a  watery  pink.  Here  and 
there  a  narrow  black  head,  fiercely  whiskered, 
and  surmounting  a  long,  massive  neck  of  tre- 
mendous power,  would  thrust  itself  high  above 
the  seething  waters,  gripping  a  fat,  convulsive 
salmon  in  its  jaws.  As  if  in  sheer  wantonness 
of  destruction,  the  shining  fish  would  be  bitten 
clean  in  two,  one  mouthful  gulped,  and  the 
bleeding  fragments  dropped  into  the  water. 
Then  the  riotous  fisherman  would  plunge  for  a 
new  prey.  It  was  a  bad  hour  for  the  salmon. 
Along  the  nearer  shore  of  the  estuary  prowled 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    285 

certain  leisurely  white  bears,  who  would  plunge 
into  the  thronged  tide,  pick  out  their  prizes, 
and  carry  them  ashore  to  be  devoured  at  ease. 
But  the  hordes  of  salmon,  urged  on  by  an  in- 
exorable desire,  never  swerved  or  halted,  and 
their  numbers  were  so  incalculable  that  not  all 
the  assaults  of  seal  and  bear  combined  seemed 
to  diminish  them  in  the  least. 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  play  with  the 
salmon,  the  big  seal  chanced  to  trespass  on  the 
none  too  amiable  repose  of  a  strange-looking 
sea-creature  which  was  rolling  sluggishly  from 
side  to  side  on  the  muddy  bottom.  This 
beast,  of  a  pale,  corpse-like  colour,  and  some 
twelve  feet  in  length,  suggested  some  past 
mesalliance  between  a  unicorn  and  a  porpoise. 
From  the  middle  of  its  huge,  blunt  snout  pro- 
truded, to  a  length  of  fully  six  feet,  a  massive, 
keenly-pointed,  curiously- twisted  tusk  of  hard- 
est ivory.  Its  cold,  little,  pig-like  eyes  re- 
garded indifferently  the  myriads  of  the  salmon 
passing  above  it,  because,  for  the  time,  its 
giant  appetite  was  sated  with  salmon. 

The  water  of  the  estuary,  at  this  point, 
was  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet  deep; 
and  it  chanced  that  the  big  seal,  in  one  of  his 
reckless  plunges,  slapped  the  narwhal  rudely 


286    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER- 

across  the  snout  with  his  hind  flippers.  Possi- 
bly the  narwhal,  at  that  moment,  was  suffer- 
ing from  incipient  indigestion.  His  temper 
was  certainly  light  on  the  trigger.  In  a 
sudden  fury  he  darted  upwards.  The  seal, 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  saw  the  rise  of 
that  pale  bulk,  though  it  was  almost  imper- 
ceptible in  the  turbid  water.  He  writhed 
aside,  doubling  upon  himself  like  an  eel;  and 
he  was  barely  in  time.  That  fine  lance  of 
ivory  missed,  indeed,  his  vitals,  but  it  ploughed 
a  red  gash  up  his  side,  just  behind  the  fore- 
flipper. 

With  the  ferocity  of  his  rush,  the  narwhal 
shot  his  tusk  and  half  his  body  out  of  the  water. 
The  seal,  in  a  rage  at  the  attack,  darted  at  him 
as  he  came  down,  and  slashed  him  savagely 
across  the  pig-like  eye.  Then,  realizing,  per- 
haps, that  his  assailant's  armour  of  blubber 
was  too  thick  for  his  teeth  to  do  much  with, 
he  glided  off  and  was  lost  among  the  salmon 
while  the  narwhal  sank  back  heavily  to  his 
interrupted  digestion  on  the  mud. 

It  was  an  almost  windless  morning,  under  a 
pale,  low  sun,  when  the  big  seal  came  to  that 
particular  island  of  the  Pribilov  group  which 
he  had  been  holding  in  his  mind's  eye  all 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    287 

through  the  northward  journey.  The  coast  — 
nay,  the  whole  island  —  was  barren  and  bleak 
beyond  depiction,  but  the  point  where  the  seal 
floundered  ashore  and  pre-empted  his  claim 
had  certain  advantages  which  his  kind  was 
quick  to  appreciate.  Not  half  a  mile  off  shore 
lay  another  flat  island,  long  and  narrow,  which 
served  as  a  breakwater  against  the  heavy  seas 
of  the  open.  Moreover,  in  the  channel  between 
there  were  always  plenty  of  fish,  and  the  water 
came  deep  right  up  to  the  lip  of  the  ledge  on 
which  he  had  established  himself. 

As  he  landed,  he  was  followed  at  once,  all 
along  the  wide  curve  of  the  ledge,  by  the 
throngs  of  his  fellow-travellers.  And  in- 
stantly the  Polar  stillness,  which  had  been 
breathless  as  death,  was  shattered  with  harsh, 
barking  roars  and  grunting  yells  as  the  new 
arrivals  wrangled  savagely  over  their  holdings. 

Here  the  big  bull  made  himself  immediately 
at  home,  his  roof  the  sky,  his  house  walls  the 
four  winds,  his  floor  a  gently-sloping  space  of 
rock  that  not  the  maddest  Arctic  storm  would 
be  able  to  jar.  How  desirable  a  holding  he  had 
taken  up  was  promptly  proved  to  him.  He 
had  not  been  five  minutes  in  possession  before 
he  had  to  fight  for  it.  Another  bull,  even 


288    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER 

bigger  than  himself,  grizzled  about  the  muzzle, 
and  with  the  welt  of  an  old  wound  white  across 
his  face,  flounced  up  the  ledge  and  flung  him- 
self in  fury  upon  the  householder.  From  the 
indignant  confidence  of  the  attack,  it  was, 
perhaps,  the  previous  season's  tenant,  strong 
in  imagined  rights.  But,  on  those  wild 
ledges,  no  rights  hold  but  those  which  might 
can  prove.  With  a  roar,  the  householder 
elongated  and  reared  aloft  his  curious,  loose- 
knit  frame,  and  came  down  upon  the  intruder 
with  demoralizing  force. 

The  householder  had  the  advantage  of 
position,  being  the  higher  on  the  slope.  His 
hind  flippers,  broad,  short,  and  powerful,  and 
turned  forward,  like  the  hind  limbs  of  a  land 
quadruped,  instead  of  helplessly  backward, 
like  those  of  the  eastern  seals,  gave  him  a 
secure  base  for  his  attack.  He  slashed  his 
opponent  mercilessly  at  the  first  stroke,  and 
bore  him  back  to  the  very  lip  of  the  ledge. 
The  intruder  was  bulky  and  powerful,  how- 
ever, and  made  good  his  foothold.  And  here, 
for  some  minutes,  the  battle  hung  in  doubt. 
The  well-matched  adversaries  roared  their 
angry  defiance  as  they  fought,  while  their 
nearest  neighbours  clamoured  in  sympathy. 


A   HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER    289 

Their  mighty  necks,  glistening  in  the  level 
sunbeams,  twisted  this  way  and  that,  their 
heads  darting  almost  too  swiftly  for  the  eye 
to  follow,  as  they  slashed  at  each  other's 
throats  and  parried  the  deadly  strokes  with 
wide-open  jaws.  At  last  that  superior  fire  and 
energy  which  had  enabled  the  householder 
to  be  first  of  all  the  herd  to  arrive  began 
to  overmaster  his  foe's  superior  weight.  The 
intruder  was  suffering  heavily,  and  all  at 
once,  either  losing  his  nerve  for  a  moment, 
or  weakened  by  his  wounds,  he  was  overbal- 
anced and  hurled  into  the  water.  Leaning 
from  the  ledge,  and  waving  his  head  sinuously, 
the  householder  waited  for  the  battle  to  be  re- 
newed. But  the  intruder  had  had  enough. 
For  one  moment  he  thrust  his  head  high  above 
the  water  and  eyed  his  enemy.  Then,  diving, 
he  swam  off  in  dejection,  and  took  up  a  place 
on  the  exposed  outskirts  of  the  settlement.1 

Within  the  next  four-and-twenty  hours  the 
householder  had  four  more  battles  to  fight  in 
order  to  make  good  his  title  to  his  holding. 
But  none  of  these  later  contests  were  equal  to 
the  first  in  severity.  Then,  fortunately  for  his 

1  The  settlement  of  the  fur  seals  on  their  breeding-grounds 
is  called  a  "  rookery." 


290    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER 

bleeding   flanks,    life   became   less   strenuous   as 
the  rookery  settled  down. 

Nevertheless,  though  the  big  seal  now  got  a 
chance  to  rest  and  recover  his  breath,  the  price 
of  his  repose  was  eternal  vigilance.  Late- 
comers kept  arriving,  swimming  up  to  the 
ledge  and  threatening  to  challenge  his  occu- 
pancy of  the  choice  location.  But,  sprawling 
close  to  the  lip  of  the  rock,  his  bleeding  bulk  in 
plain  view,  his  mighty  neck  swaying  alertly, 
his  big,  intelligent  eyes  agleam  with  savage 
watchfulness,  he  presented  so  formidable  and 
prepared  a  front  that  his  would-be  challengers 
usually  reconsidered,  and  swam  on  to  look 
for  an  easier  venture.  If  any  did  try  to  land, 
the  householder  was  down  upon  them  before 
they  could  gain  a  footing,  and  they  got  away 
with  their  gashes  as  best  they  might.  Then 
there  were  his  immediate  neighbours,  two 
big,  aggressive  bulls,  to  guard  against.  They 
had  secured  good  locations  of  their  own,  but 
they  were  always  threatening  to  encroach  on 
the  boundaries  which  he  had  established  for 
himself.  These  boundaries  were,  indeed,  per- 
haps a  bit  over-ample,  but  the  householder 
was  planning  for  a  large  household,  to  make 
up  for  his  failure  of  the  previous  season.  And 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    291 

with  vehement  barking  and  roaring  he  warned 
back  every  attempt  at  encroachment. 

A  curious  part  of  the  situation  was  that  the 
ceaselessly-harassed  householder  had  now  no 
time  to  eat.  Had  he  left  his  post  for  a  moment, 
he  would  have  found  it  occupied  on  his  return, 
and  been  compelled  to  fight  a  doubtful  battle 
for  its  recapture.  Not  a  dozen  paces  from 
his  nose  there  was  plenty  to  eat  —  fat  fish 
swarming  in  the  icy,  green  sea  —  but  he  could 
not  go  and  catch  them.  In  this,  to  be  sure, 
he  was  no  worse  off  than  his  fellows  and  rivals. 
Every  bull  who  had  secured  a  decent  place 
had  to  give  all  his  time  and  attention  to  the 
guarding  of  it. 

It  was  now  about  the  first  of  May,  and  for 
five  or  six  weeks,  through  the  long,  pale  glare 
of  the  interminable  Arctic  day,  with  the  low 
sun  swinging  around  the  horizon  and  hardly 
more  than  dipping  beneath  it,  the  householder 
never  broke  his  fast.  He  hardly  dared  to  sleep, 
even,  lest  some  audacious  young  new-comer 
should  steal  a  march  on  him.  Fortunately, 
he  was  fat,  from  his  winter  of  good  feeding 
and  easy  living,  and  the  store  of  firm  blubber 
beneath  his  hide  kept  his  vital  forces  well 
nourished. 


292    A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER 

About  the  end  of  the  month  began  to  arrive 
the  sleek  and  amiable  hordes  of  the  "half- 
bulls"  and  the  "  bachelors,"  too  young  as  yet 
to  mate,  or  even  to  aspire  to  such  a  responsi- 
bility. With  them  came  a  host  of  the  little, 
mild-eyed,  yearling  cows,  playful  children  of 
the  sea.  To  all  these  thronging  innocents  the 
old  bulls  paid  no  attention  whatever.  They 
swarmed  ashore  on  the  outskirts  of  the  rook- 
ery, pleased  with  whatever  quarters  they  could 
get,  and  passed  their  heedless  hours  —  when 
not  engrossed  with  the  business  of  fishing  —  in 
gambolling  as  joyously  as  a  lot  of  children  just 
let  out  from  school. 

And  then,  at  last,  in  the  first  week  of  June, 
came  the  long-looked-for  event  for  which  all 
this  householding  and  watching  and  fighting 
and  fasting  were  but  the  preparation  —  the 
arrival  of  the  full-grown  cows. 

They  arrived  in  ever-increasing  detachments, 
crowding  upon  each  other's  flippers. 

As  the  cows  are  full-grown  at  two  years  old, 
and  the  bulls  not  till  the  age  of  seven,  and  as 
the  females,  moreover,  are  born  in  greater 
numbers  than  the  males,  they  outnumber  the 
adult  bulls  by  ten  or  twelve  to  one.  Never- 
theless, there  was  not  a  bull  in  the  herd  but 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    293 

was  quite  sure  there  would  never  be  enough  to 
"go  around." 

The  first  two  cows  to  arrive  came  swimming, 
one  a  foot  or  two  behind  the  other,  straight  for 
the  ledge  of  our  harassed  but  triumphant 
householder,  who  awaited  them  with  agitated 
head  reaching  and  darting  as  far  as  possible  out 
over  the  water.  The  cow  of  the  fur  seal  is  far 
smaller  than  her  polygamous  and  domineering 
lord,  soft-eyed  and  mild-mannered.  As  the 
leading  swimmer  reached  the  ledge,  before  she 
had  time  to  scramble  up  of  her  own  accord, 
the  householder  grabbed  her  unceremoniously 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  and  helped  her  ashore 
with  more  vigor  than  tact.  That  uncom- 
promising grip  of  his  teeth  upon  her  neck  must 
have  been  painful,  but  the  little  cow  seemed 
to  take  it  as  evidence  of  devotion,  for  she  made 
no  complaint.  Her  sudden  spouse,  however, 
took  no  time  to  court,  or  even  to  admire,  his 
glistening  bride.  Thrusting  her  behind  him, 
he  wheeled  like  a  flash  to  extend  the  same 
gallant  attention  to  her  sister-voyager.  But 
he  was  too  late.  His  energetic  neighbour  on 
the  right  had  forestalled  him  just  in  time,  and 
successfully  dragged  off  the  unreluctant  fair  to 
grace  his  own  hearth. 


294    A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER 

Roaring  with  disappointment  and  jealousy, 
the  householder  floundered  over  his  boundary 
to  reclaim  what  he  counted  his  own.  But, 
as  he  did  so,  a  backward  glance  showed  his 
neighbour  on  the  left  coming  to  steal  the  bride 
whom  he  had  already  secured.  For  an  in- 
stant he  wavered,  in  an  agony  of  indecision. 
But  the  faithless  little  cow,  making  no  effort  to 
follow  him,  seemed  shamelessly  indifferent  to 
the  prospect  of  a  sudden  change  of  lords.  So 
he  flounced  furiously  back  to  her  side,  and 
stood  guard  above  her  with  gaping  jaws;  and 
the  would-be  thief,  who  had  already  more 
than  once  tasted  the  householder's  mettle,  had 
the  discretion  to  back  off. 

By  this  time  the  cows  were  arriving  in  such 
numbers  that  every  big  seal  had  enough  to 
do  in  capturing  those  which  came  within  his 
reach,  without  trying  to  rob  his  neighbours. 
The  householder,  alert  and  untiring,  succeeded, 
during  the  next  forty-eight  hours  or  so,  in 
grabbing  and  installing  no  fewer  than  a  score 
and  half  of  mild-eyed  little  mates,  who  huddled 
meekly  on  the  ledge  behind  him,  and  watched 
admiringly  his  herculean  efforts  to  add  to  their 
number.  They  were  not  troubled  by  jealousy. 
Most  of  them,  perhaps,  were  proud  to  belong  to 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    295 

a  well-stocked  harem,  whose  numbers  attested 
the  fighting  powers  of  their  lord.  Two,  to 
be  sure,  did  allow  themselves  to  be  lured  off  — 
while  the  householder  was  busy  helping  new 
arrivals  ashore  —  by  an  improvident  young  bull 
in  the  rear  ranks,  who  had  hitherto  been  un- 
able to  secure  a  mate.  But,  for  the  most  part, 
there  was  a  something  in  the  grip  of  the  house- 
holder's jaws  on  their  necks  which  they  could 
not  forget.  It  proved  him  a  masterful  lover, 
and  subdued  any  impulse  to  stray. 

For  some  days  the  belated  companies  of 
the  cows  kept  straggling  in,  and  the  house- 
holder, his  good  fortune  in  the  way  of  oppor- 
tunity never  failing  him,  presently  found  himself 
at  the  head  of  a  harem  of  over  forty  mem- 
bers. For  his  great  heart  and  broad  ambitions 
it  was  none  too  many,  but  it  made  him  a  centre 
of  bitterest  enmity.  Even  his  strenuous  neigh- 
bours on  either  side  of  him  had  no  such  com- 
pany on  their  ledges,  and  to  the  rear  was  a 
scattered  line  of  young  bulls  who  had  come 
late,  and  were  ever  on  the  look-out  for  a  chance 
to  poach.  The  householder  was  so  harassed 
by  his  honours  that  he  had  no  time  to  snatch 
a  wink  of  sleep;  and  as  for  eating,  that  was 
an  indulgence  he  had  not  allowed  himself  for 


296    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER 

so  long  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  what  it 
was  like.  Forty  wives  —  and  all  waiting  to  be 
stolen  by  any  stronger  or  more  crafty  suitor 
who  might  come  along !  It  was  something 
even  for  the  harassed  householder  to  keep  them 
all  counted.  He  kept  floundering  vigilantly 
around  the  huddled  throng;  and  if  any  one, 
feeling  herself  neglected  or  overlooked,  tried 
to  slip  off  and  join  some  forlorn-looking  suitor 
in  the  back  row,  she  speedily  found  that  she 
was  not  so  much  forgotten  as  she  had  thought. 
She  would  be  grabbed  by  the  neck,  shaken  into 
abject  penitence,  and  thrust  back  into  the 
centre  of  the  harem.  All  this,  of  course,  was 
not  accomplished  without  continual  skirmishes, 
as  this  or  that  disappointed  trespasser  would 
take  courage  to  show  fight.  But  the  house- 
holder was  so  much  too  strong  and  clever  a 
fighter  for  the  inexperienced  young  bulls  of 
the  back  line,  that  such  skirmishes  were  always 
quickly  ended. 

Within  a  few  days  of  the  arrival  of  the  cows, 
the  woolly,  little,  baby-faced  "pups"  began 
to  be  born.  As  the  births  increased,  the 
troubles  of  the  householder  began  to  diminish 
a  little.  As  soon  as  a  pup  was  born  in  his 
harem,  the  mother  was  safe  not  to  stray.  But 


A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER    297 

trespassers  continued  to  be  as  dangerous  as 
ever,  for  those  gallant  robbers  were  no  shirkers 
of  responsibility,  and  were  always  ready  to 
steal  mother  and  pup  together.  As  soon  as 
the  young  were  over  their  first  abject  help- 
lessness, the  mothers  were  permitted  to  leave 
the  harem,  strictly  by  the  front  door,  in  order 
to  catch  fish  and  keep  up  their  supply  of  milk 
for  the  little  ones,  for  the  householder  knew 
that  no  cow  would  now  fail  to  come  back. 
But  for  himself  there  was  still  neither  rest  nor 
food.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
stay  at  home,  keep  awake,  watch  the  little 
ones  of  forty  wives,  and  fight  off  persistent 
rivals.  It  was  a  wearing  existence.  He  was 
by  this  time  no  longer  a  sleek  and  well-fed 
gallant,  but  a  gaunt  hideful  of  bones  adorned 
with  unlovely  though  honourable  scars.  All 
his  strength  and  fire,  however,  remained  to 
him  unimpaired,  and  no  rival  challenged  him 
without  being  made  to  repent  it. 

But  one  day  there  came  an  enemy  whom 
even  the  householder's  prowess  could  not  defy. 
The  seal-hunters  arrived  at  the  rookery.  They 
were  not  those  indiscriminate  slaughterers, 
the  poachers,  but  the  legitimate  hunters,  who 
came  to  kill  with  discretion.  They  did  not 


298    A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER 

interfere  with  the  old  bulls  and  their  breeding 
households,  though  the  bulls  all  roared  at 
them  dauntlessly.  They  invaded  the  play- 
grounds of  the  unmated  youth,  and,  sparing 
the  little  females,  made  awful  havoc  among 
the  half-bulls  and  the  bachelors,  till  the  once 
happy  playground  was  hideous  with  the  blood 
and  the  dead.  Yet  they  were  careful  to  spare 
a  good  percentage  of  even  the  unhappy  bache- 
lors, in  order  that  the  profitable  tribe  of  the  fur 
seals  might  not  be  killed  out. 

Among  the  seal-hunters  came  a  thoughtful 
man,  whose  purpose  was  not  to  kill,  but  to 
observe.  He  did  not  like  the  killing.  His 
inquiring  nose  wrinkled  with  aversion  as  he 
eyed  the  slaughter  for  a  moment  to  see  just 
how  it  was  done.  Then  he  turned  away  in 
some  haste  to  study  the  rest  of  the  rookery,  to 
shoot  at  it  with  his  camera,  and  to  find  out  how 
the  fur  seal  conducted  itself  when  more  in- 
terestingly employed  than  in  being  killed. 
Slowly  he  made  his  way  along  behind  the 
rookery,  heedless  of  threats  and  roars  and 
snapping  jaws,  and  halting  at  every  other  step 
to  level  his  lens  and  click  his  shutter.  At 
last,  filled  with  enthusiasm  and  facts,  he 
came  behind  the  ledge  where  the  war-worn 


A  HARASSED   HOUSEHOLDER    299 

householder  guarded  his  harem  of  forty  fair. 
This  immense  family  and  its  towering 
guardian  caught  the  observer's  eye.  Here, 
indeed,  was  a  household  to  be  made  a  note  of. 
First  he  snapped  it  from  a  distance.  Then 
he  determined  to  invade  its  crowded  privacy 
and  study  its  home  arrangements.  Avoiding, 
without  much  heed,  the  angry  bulls  of  the  rear 
line,  with  their  meagre  harems,  he  made  his 
way  fearlessly  right  in  among  the  shrinking 
cows  and  the  round-eyed,  trusting  pups  of  the 
householder's  family.  He  had  been  seeing  so 
many  seals  killed,  and  so  easily,  that  he  had 
acquired  a  mistaken  idea  of  that  creature's 
courage.  Ignoring  the  harsh  warning  of  the 
householder,  he  stooped  down  to  examine  and 
fondle  one  of  the  pups,  which  gazed  up  at  him 
fearlessly  with  eyes  of  pathetic  depth  and 
softness. 

Now,  the  householder  knew  very  well  what 
this  stranger  was  —  the  invincible  Man,  sub- 
jugator of  all  beasts,  able  to  kill  instantly  and 
invisibly  or  with  darting  flame.  But  he  had 
no  hesitation ;  he  took  no  account  of  risks  in 
defending  his  hearth.  An  awkward  but  dan- 
gerous figure,  he  came  lunging  valiantly  to  the 
attack. 


300    A  HARASSED  HOUSEHOLDER 

Just  in  the  nick  of  time  the  man  looked  up, 
to  see  the  ragged  bulk  descending  upon  him. 
He  leapt  wildly,  dropping  his  camera,  and 
escaped  the  fatal  slash  of  his  assailant's  jaws. 
But  one  great  flipper  struck  him,  and  he  fell 
headlong,  half  stunned,  over  the  back  of  a 
protesting  cow.  Fortunately  for  him,  the 
householder  paused  to  crush  the  camera, 
and  the  man,  shaking  his  head  in  a  half-dazed 
way,  had  time  to  recover  himself  sufficiently 
to  meet  the  next  floundering  assault.  The 
only  weapon  he  carried  was  a  heavy  knotted 
stick,  which  served  him  both  as  walking-stick 
and  club.  As  he  sprang  aside,  he  caught  his 
adversary  a  stiff  blow  on  the  nose  —  the  most 
vulnerable  point  of  a  seal  —  and  the  house- 
holder collapsed  like  a  punctured  tire. 

The  man  looked  down  with  compunction 
on  his  fallen  foe,  picked  up  the  wreck  of  his 
camera,  patted  a  pup  that  would  not  get  out 
of  his  way,  and  withdrew.  When  he  had 
passed  the  rear  line  of  bulls,  he  looked  back, 
and  saw,  to  his  infinite  satisfaction,  that  his 
stroke  had  been  less  effective  than  he  had 
feared.  The  householder,  slowly  recovering, 
was  lifting  up  his  dauntless  head,  scanning  his 
family  to  see  that  none  were  stolen,  and  once 


A  HARASSED    HOUSEHOLDER    301 

more,  though  still  somewhat  faintly,  roaring  his 
defiance  to  all  comers.  When,  a  few  days 
later,  the  satisfied  hunters  left  the  island,  the 
householder  could  not  but  feel  that  he  himself 
had  been  the  cause  of  their  departure.  As 
there  was  no  one  to  dispute  his  theory,  it  is 
not  strange  that  he  found  it  satisfying. 

Some  six  weeks  later,  toward  the  end  of 
July,  the  pups  being  by  this  time  strong  enough 
to  travel,  and  the  pangs  of  his  prolonged  fast 
having  grown  unbearable,  the  householder 
and  all  his  rivals  came  suddenly  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  was  not  worth  while  striving 
at  such  cost  to  hold  their  harems  together. 
They  remembered  that  next  year  they  might 
hope  to  gather  others  just  as  interesting.  And 
all  at  once,  their  fiercest  feuds  forgotten, 
they  plumped  into  the  water  and  began  hun- 
grily chasing  fish.  Presently  all  turned  their 
faces  southward,  and  soon  the  bleak  ledges 
were  left  solitary  once  more  to  confront  the 
storm  and  cold  of  the  oncoming  Arctic  night. 


Ishmael   of  the   Hemlocks 

AN  Ishmael  indeed,  his  fangs  and  his 
claws  were  against  every  other  dweller 
of  the  wilderness,  great  or  small.  And  every 
other  dweller  of  the  wilderness  was  against 
him  —  the  small  and  weak  with  an  unsleeping 
terror,  and  even  the  powerful  with  a  hate  that 
was  not  unmixed  with  dread.  The  bear  him- 
self, serenely  scornful  of  much  larger  foes, 
condescended  to  regard  him  with  a  vigilant 
animosity.  Only  the  giant  moose  ignored  him 
utterly,  and  stalked  through  the  forest  uncon- 
scious of  his  presence. 

Yet  this  creature  that  was  able  to  win  him- 
self the  tribute  of  so  much  fear  and  so  much 
hate,  this  Ishmael  of  the  hemlocks,  was  no 
bigger  than  a  bobcat  or  a  fox.  Among  the 
backwoodsmen  and  the  trappers  he  was  known 
by  various  names.  The  most  common  of 
these  was  "the  fisher/'  though  why  he  should 
be  so  called  was  something  of  a  mystery,  his 
prowess  as  a  fisherman  being  much  inferior 

302 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS     303 

even  to  that  of  the  racoon,  and,  of  course,  in  no 
way  to  be  compared  with  the  skill  of  such  ex- 
perts as  the  mink  or  the  otter.  He  was  known 
also  as  the  "black  cat,"  though  he  was  not 
black,  and  neither  was  he  a  cat.  That  he 
should  have  been  so  inappropriately  named, 
however,  is  perhaps  not  so  surprising  as  it 
seems  at  first  glance.  His  personality  was  not 
one  that  lent  itself  to  exact  or  intimate  obser- 
vation; and  such  information  as  men  were 
able  to  pick  up  in  regard  to  him  was  quite  apt, 
in  the  long  run,  to  prove  mistaken. 

A  member  of  the  great  and  redoubtable 
Mustela  family,  this  Ishmael  of  the  hemlock 
glooms  had  all  the  lightning  agility  and  fero- 
cious courage  of  his  little  cousin,  the  weasel, 
together  with  the  merciless  craft  and  much 
of  the  astonishing  muscular  strength  of  his 
bulkier  kinsman,  the  hated  wolverine,  or 
"Injun  devil."  Though  hardly  more  than 
three  feet  in  length,  from  his  sharp,  cruel 
muzzle  to  the  tip  of  his  handsome,  bushy  tail, 
by  reason  of  the  incredible  swiftness  and 
savagery  of  his  attack  he  was  more  than  a 
match  for  the  most  powerful  of  foxes,  or  for 
any  dog  of  less  than  twice  his  size.  The  few 
adversaries  whom  he  was  forced  to  recognize  as 


304    ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS 

outclassing  him  in  strength  he  could  generally 
manage  to  overreach  by  craft. 

It  was  in  a  dark  and  tangled  hemlock  wood 
that  Ishmael  had  his  retreat,  where  the  sombre 
evergreens  shut  out  the  sun  in  winter  as  in 
summer,  and  fallen,  decaying  trunks  made 
the  earth  a  labyrinth  of  tortuous  runways 
and  unexpected  hiding-places.  This  was  his 
chosen  domain,  for  he  climbed  like  a  squirrel, 
and  it  was  all  the  same  to  him  whether  he 
travelled  on  the  ground  or  by  way  of  the 
swaying  tree-tops.  But,  thanks  to  his  all-too- 
effective  methods  of  hunting,  game  was  no 
longer  very  abundant  in  the  hemlock  wood, 
and  he  was  wont  to  forage  far  afield.  Running 
soundlessly  as  a  mink  and  tirelessly  as  a  wolf, 
he  would  cover  enormous  distances  between 
the  evening  and  the  morning  red.  Being  no 
respecter  of  bounds,  he  poached  impartially 
on  all  preserves,  challenging  every  other 
marauder  of  the  forest  to  the  contest  of  either 
strength  or  cunning.  And  all  day,  amid  the 
sombre  green  shadows  of  the  hemlocks,  he 
would  sleep,  curled  up  like  a  peaceful  tabby, 
in  the  heart  of  a  hollow  trunk.  He  was  fond 
of  sleep.  His  tremendous  energies  required  a 
lot  of  it.  And  this  was  fortunate  for  the 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS     305 

other  forest  kindreds,  who  were  thus  enabled 
to  go  all  day  freely  hither  through  the  hemlock 
glooms,  on  their  furtive  affairs  intent,  without 
fear  of  the  dreaded  sleeper  in  his  tree.  But, 
when  dusk  fell,  even  the  nimble  wood-mice 
were  shy  of  the  neighbourhood;  and  the  wild 
rabbits,  who  were  IshmaePs  chief  dependence 
for  his  daily  diet,  fled  to  the  more  open  hard- 
wood ridges  for  their  moonlight  revellings. 
Even  that  implacable  litter  killer,  the  weasel, 
forbore  to  hunt  in  the  hemlock  wood.  For 
he  knew  that  Ishmael  would  not  only  hunt 
him — perhaps  for  sheer  delight  in  the  difficult 
chase  —  but  would  even  devour  his  rank  and 
stringy  flesh,  tough  as  whipcord,  which  none 
of  the  other  forest  prowlers  would  touch 
unless  in  the  extremest  pangs  of  hunger. 

On  a  certain  spring  evening,  when  the  light 
of  an  early-rising  moon  silvered  the  hemlock 
tops  even  before  the  last  of  the  sunset  had 
faded  from  the  sky,  Ishmael  awoke  with  an 
unusual  appetite.  He  came  gliding  forth 
somewhat  hurriedly,  and  took  not  his  usual 
time  to  stretch  himself  on  the  long,  slanting 
trunk  which  led  down  from  his  hole.  On  the 
previous  night  he  had  fed  exclusively  on  rabbit, 
and  rabbit  meat  has  this  peculiarity  —  that, 


306    ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

as  the  woodsmen  say,  it  does  not  "stand  by 
one."  After  ever  so  hearty  a  meal  of  it,  one 
is  soon  hungry  again;  so  that  they  who  feed 
on  that  flesh  must  feed  often,  which  is,  perhaps, 
a  provision  of  Nature,  that  the  prolific  family 
of  the  rabbits  shall  not  be  allowed  to  overrun 
the  earth. 

As  Ishmael  emerged  upon  his  ladder,  a 
hollow,  booming  voice  cried  suddenly  through 
the  tree-tops.  It  was  a  dreadful  voice,  and  it 
sounded  very  near,  though  with  a  vagueness 
that  made  it  impossible  to  say  just  where  it 
came  from.  Ishmael  knew  that  menacing 
voice  very  well;  but,  paying  no  heed  to  it 
whatever,  he  ran  on  down  the  sloping  trunk. 
The  great  horned  owl,  the  terror  of  all  the 
lesser  prowlers  of  the  night,  had  no  terrors  for 
him. 

But  this  winged  marauder,  as  it  chanced, 
was  a  new-comer  —  a  migrant  from  those  par- 
tially-settled districts  south  of  the  Ottanoonsis 
Valley,  where  the  fishers,  who  loathe  the 
habitations  and  neighbourhood  of  man,  never 
ranged.  He  was  unacquainted  with  Ishmael. 
His  wide,  pale,  staring  eyes  saw  a  furry  shape 
glide  down  the  trunk.  As  the  gliding  shape 
came  out  into  a  patch  of  moonlight,  he  half 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS     307 

closed  his  downy  wings  above  his  back,  and 
swooped  upon  it  soundlessly.  Just  as  he  did 
so,  Ishmael  looked  up  with  a  wide-mouthed 
snarl.  There  was  something  in  that  snarl  so 
terrible  that  the  great  owl  realized  he  had  made 
a  mistake.  With  a  violent  flap  he  veered 
aside.  But  it  was  a  close  thing  for  him. 
Ishmael's  lithe  neck  shot  out,  and  his  fangs 
sank  into  the  owl's  padded  thigh.  He  got 
no  more,  however,  than  a  mouthful  of  very 
downy  feathers,  and  the  discomfited  bird, 
flapping  hastily  away  from  so  dangerous  a 
proximity,  left  him  furiously  pawing  at  his 
mouth  to  rid  himself  of  the  clinging,  exasper- 
ating fluff. 

Reaching  the  ground,  Ishmael  ran  on  in  an 
evil  temper.  He  was  not  expecting  game  in 
that  neighbourhood,  so  he  went  in  haste, 
travelling  in  long,  noiseless  leaps,  the  very 
embodiment  of  force  and  speed  and  precision. 
But  in  order  not  to  miss  any  opportunity  which 
the  chances  of  the  chase  might  throw  in  his 
way,  he  went  with  his  nose  held  high,  alert  to 
catch  any  passing  scent. 

Emerging  from  the  hemlock  glooms,  he 
entered  a  region  of  young  second  growth, 
where  thickets  of  half-grown  fir  and  spruce 


308     ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

intermingled  with  patches  of  birch,  poplar, 
maple,  and  cherry.  Here,  on  a  sudden,  a 
strong  scent  drew  across  his  nostrils.  He 
stopped  as  if  shot,  and  stiffened  to  instant 
rigidity,  half  erect,  muzzle  held  high,  while 
his  keen  nose  questioned  the  air  in  every  direc- 
tion. The  scent  was  that  of  a  porcupine,  and 
it  was  so  fresh,  so  insistent,  that  he  knew  the 
prickly  rodent  must  be  close  at  hand.  His 
implacable  eyes,  sharp  and  close-set,  peered 
all  about  him.  At  last,  glancing  upwards  he 
caught  sight  of  a  dark  ball  swaying  far  out  on 
the  slender  bough  of  a  tall  birch  tree. 

Now  the  porcupine  is  a  quarry  which  the 
rest  of  the  forest  hunters  are  loath  to  meddle 
with.  His  deadly  quills,  sharp  as  needles, 
and  so  armed  with  tiny  barbs  that,  once  fixed, 
they  will  work  their  way  ever  inwards  inex- 
orably till  they  reach,  perhaps,  a  vital  spot, 
are  a  peril  which  only  starvation  itself  will 
drive  the  weasel,  the  fox,  or  the  lynx  to  face. 
But  Ishmael  had  the  secret  of  dealing  with 
porcupines,  and  he  knew  that  the  flesh  beneath 
that  dangerous  armour  was  strong  and  satis- 
fying. He  was  up  the  birch  tree  and  out  upon 
the  swaying  branch  before  the  heavy- wit  ted 
porcupine  had  any  suspicion  of  his  approach. 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS    309 

Very  cautiously  now  Ishmael  crept  out 
along  the  slender  branch,  which  bent  low 
under  the  increasing  weight.  Perhaps  wonder- 
ing why  he  had  suddenly  grown  so  much 
heavier,  the  porcupine  slowly  turned,  to  climb 
back  to  a  less  precarious  support.  Before  he 
was  much  more  than  half-way  around,  he  found 
himself  confronted,  at  a  distance  of  a  few 
inches,  by  the  silent,  deadly  face  of  Ishmael, 
crouched  low  on  the  branch. 

Instantly  every  quill  of  the  porcupine 's  de- 
fences stood  erect;  but  his  position  was  one  so 
awkward  that  he  could  not  immediately  coil 
himself  up  into  that  ball  of  needle-points  which 
all  his  foes  so  dreaded.  Convulsively  he  strove 
to  get  his  naked,  unprotected  face  curled  down 
between  his  paws.  But  the  doom  before  him 
struck  too  quickly.  IshmaePs  head  darted 
forward,  swift  and  straight  as  a  rattler's,  shot 
in  under  the  threatening  frontlet  of  barbs, 
and  fixed  inexorable  fangs  in  the  porcupine's 
nose. 

At  the  same  instant,  knowing  all  the  possible 
dangers  of  the  situation,  Ishmael  began  to  back 
briskly  up  the  branch.  The  porcupine  strug- 
gled to  double  upon  himself,  in  order  to  strike 
at  his  enemy  with  his  armed  and  powerful 


3io    ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS 

tail.  He  was  being  dragged  along  too  rudely 
for  that.  Digging  in  his  claws  and  holding 
back  with  all  his  strength,  he  struggled  to  re- 
sist his  captor  and  to  wrench  his  bleeding 
muzzle  free.  But  he  was  jerked  forward  so 
savagely  that  his  scant  wits  all  but  forsook  him. 

The  evening  twilight,  mysterious  with  its 
mingling  of  sunset  and  moonrise,  had  hitherto 
been  voicelessly  still,  except  for  the  occasional 
solemn  twanging  note  of  a  night-hawk,  swoop- 
ing across  the  violet  dome  of  sky.  Now, 
however,  the  peace  was  broken  by  a  hideous 
confusion  of  sounds,  suppressed  but  desperate. 
Except  to  one  immediately  beneath  the  tree, 
the  struggle  was  unseen.  But  the  fierce  rat- 
tling of  branches,  the  breathless,  grunting 
squeaks,  the  tearing  of  claws  dragged  remorse- 
lessly from  their  hold  on  the  bark,  were  elo- 
quent of  tragedy. 

Reaching  the  crotch  of  the  bough,  Ishmael 
braced  his  lithe  hind-quarters  securely  upon 
the  main  trunk,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk 
swung  the  porcupine  clean  off  his  feet,  dashing 
him  violently  against  a  branch  below.  Half 
stunned  and  wholly  bewildered,  the  wretched 
victim  laid  back  all  his  quills  as  he  swung 
there,  and  clawed  frantically  for  a  footing. 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS    311 

Ishmael  allowed  him  almost  to  gain  one,  and 
then,  as  he  hung  thus  extended  and  defenceless, 
loosed  hold  upon  his  nose  and  caught  him  by 
the  throat.  The  victim's  struggles  at  once 
grew  feebler,  and  in  a  few  moments  ceased 
altogether.  When  he  hung  quite  limp,  Ish- 
mael let  go,  and  the  body  dropped  to  the 
ground.  Following  it  with  a  rush,  lest  some 
other  hunter  should  forestall  him,  Ishmael 
carefully  turned  it  over  upon  its  back,  — 
knowing  that  all  the  under-parts  were  soft 
and  unprotected  —  and  fell  to  his  meal. 

Having  eaten  all  he  could,  with  the  confi- 
dence of  an  ever-successful  hunter,  he  left  the 
remnants  indifferently  for  whoever  might 
come  by,  and  betook  himself  to  the  high  and 
ample  crotch  of  a  neighbouring  beech  tree. 
Here  he  proceeded  to  make  a  careful  toilet, 
cleansing  his  fine  fur  scrupulously  till  not  a 
trace  of  his  late  sanguinary  adventure  re- 
mained. Then,  as  wide  awake  and  as  keen  for 
the  chase  as  if  he  had  had  nothing  to  eat  for 
hours,  he  slipped  down  from  the  beech  tree 
and  raced  on  through  the  moon-silvered  still- 
ness. 

Presently  across  the  stillness  came  the 
light  babble  of  running  water.  As  if  at  the 


312    ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS 

sound  a  memory  had  flashed  upon  him,  he 
swerved  sharply  aside,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
came  out  upon  a  little  grassy  meadow  on  the 
shores  of  a  shallow  brook  which  sang  softly 
over  its  pebbles.  But  Ishmael  was  not  thirsty. 
He  paid  no  heed  to  the  water,  but  went  sniffing 
about  among  the  herbage,  till  presently  he 
found  what  he  was  looking  for.  Straightway 
he  fell  to  rolling  himself  over  and  over  in  it, 
and  biting  at  it  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  What 
he  had  found  was  a  bed  of  catnip,  for  which 
herb  he  had  all  the  semi-delirious  passion  of 
the  cats  themselves. 

Having  satiated  himself  with  this  luxury, 
Ishmael  kept  on  up  the  stream,  his  nose  held 
high,  as  usual,  but  the  keenness  of  his  scent 
somewhat  blunted,  for  the  moment,  by  the 
pungency  of  the  catnip.  It  was  because  of 
this,  perhaps,  that,  on  whisking  around  a  huge 
half -rotten  stump,  he  ran  plump  into  a  big 
black  bear  which  was  grubbing  for  beetles  in 
the  rich  mould.  The  bear  made  a  furious  pass 
at  him  with  her  gigantic  paw,  and  Ishmael 
flashed  aside  just  in  time  to  escape  being 
crushed.  Startled  and  enraged,  he  darted 
around  the  stump,  and,  reappearing  suddenly 
on  the  other  side,  snarled  venomously  and 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS     313 

made  as  if  to  spring  at  the  great  beast's  throat. 
He  was  by  no  means  insane,  however;  and 
when  the  bear  lunged  forward  at  him  with  a 
grunt  of  hate,  he  slipped  away  like  a  snake 
into  the  undergrowth. 

Some  five  minutes  later,  while  creeping 
swiftly  under  the  branches  of  a  dense  fir  thicket, 
he  ran  full  upon  something  warm  and  alive, 
lying  huddled  up  upon  the  ground.  His 
nose  had  not  warned  him  —  perhaps  because 
the  young  of  the  wild  creatures  seem,  at  times, 
to  have  a  protective  lack  of  scent  —  and  his 
eyes  had  not  warned  him,  because  the  motion- 
less little  form,  both  in  colour  and  in  outline, 
seemed  to  melt  into  its  surroundings.  Never- 
theless, Ishmael  was  not  taken  by  surprise. 
His  practised  jaws  went  instantly  and  un- 
erringly to  this  new  quarry's  throat.  There 
was  a  sharp  bleat  of  agony  and  terror,  a  pa- 
thetically brief  and  feeble  beating^  of  awkward 
limbs.  Carefully  as  its  anxious  mother  had 
hidden  it,  the  baby  fawn  too  soon  had  met  the 
doom  of  the  wild. 

Ishmael  liked  venison  —  young  venison  — 
even  better  than  porcupine;  so,  though  he 
was  not  exactly  hungry,  he  drank  the  warm 
blood  greedily,  and  even  managed  to  partake 


3H     ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

of  a  little  solid  dessert.  While  thus  pleasantly 
occupied,  however,  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out 
for  the  old  doe,  whose  knife-edged  hooves  and 
mother  rage  would,  as  he  knew,  make  her 
dangerous  even  for  him.  Suddenly  there 
sounded  a  brusque  swishing  and  crashing  of 
branches.  But  it  was  not  the  doe  that  came 
bursting  into  the  thicket.  It  was  the  great 
black  bear.  She  had  followed  him  up,  and 
now  she  was  come  to  rob  him  of  his  kill. 

For  a  second  or  two  Ishmael  went  all  but 
blind  with  fury.  He  crouched  upon  his  prey, 
facing  the  intruder  with  so  malignant  a  rage 
that  it  almost  seemed  to  efface  the  disparity  of 
their  statures.  The  bear,  however,  cared  noth- 
ing for  his  rage.  She  lumbered  forward  and 
struck  swiftly  at  the  small  brown  beast  that 
was  so  presumptuous  as  to  withstand  her. 

The  blow,  of  course,  fell  on  nothing;  Ish- 
mael had  vanished  like  a  shadow.  An  instant 
later  the  bear  felt  a  piercing  pang  in  the  great 
muscles  just  above  her  heel.  She  wheeled 
and  struck  again  like  lightning.  But  Ishmael 
was  already  gone.  He  crouched,  snarling 
softly,  some  dozen  feet  away,  challenging  her 
to  pursue. 

But  the  bear,  for  all  her  rage,  was  not  to  be 


ISHMAEL   OF  THE   HEMLOCKS    315 

lured.  The  wound  she  had  received  was  pain- 
ful enough,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  not  grave; 
her  opponent's  jaws  were  not  wide  enough  to 
inflict  serious  damage  on  her  great  furry  limb. 
She  knew  that  in  nimbleness  she  was  no  match 
for  the  vicious  little  antagonist  that  taunted 
her.  And  she  was  hungry.  She  had  two 
bright-eyed  whimsical  cubs  in  her  den  beneath 
the  rocky  lip  of  the  ridge,  and  their  appe- 
tites made  a  demand  upon  her  breasts  which 
a  diet  of  wood-grubs  and  wild  tubers  hardly 
enabled  her  to  satisfy.  The  flesh  of  the  fawn 
was  a  godsend  to  her.  Mumbling  indignantly, 
she  fell  to  her  repast,  but  she  kept  the  while 
a  wary  eye  on  the  foe. 

Now,  Ishmael,  as  it  chanced,  knew  all  about 
that  den  on  the  ridge  and  its  precious  occu- 
pants. From  a  safe  distance  he  had  surveyed 
it,  gnashing  his  teeth  with  malice,  but  not 
quite  liking  to  risk  the  perilous  adventure  of 
invading  it.  Now,  however,  his  rage  blotted 
out  his  always  scant  endowment  of  caution. 
Even  so,  his  cunning  did  not  quite  desert  him. 
He  made  a  final  threatening  rush  at  his  great 
adversary,  to  make  sure  of  attracting  her 
undivided  attention,  and  then,  as  if  daunted 
at  last  by  the  fury  of  her  counter-attack,  he 


316     ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

darted  away,  not  too  swiftly,  in  a  direction 
exactly  opposite  to  that  which  would  lead  him 
to  the  den.  Craftily  he  kept  to  the  moonlit 
patches  of  open,  and  the  old  bear's  eyes  fol- 
lowed him  suspiciously  till  he  was  lost  in  the 
confusion  of  the  shadows. 

Satisfied  at  last  that  he  was  well  beyond 
eyeshot,  he  wheeled  in  his  tracks,  made  a 
short  detour,  and  sped  straight  for  the  crest 
of  the  ridge. 

The  old  bear  had  her  den  in  a  little  cave 
with  a  narrow  entrance,  just  where  the  tilted 
strata  of  slate  which  formed  the  extremity  of 
Blue  Ridge  broke  off  sharply  and  overhung 
a  deep  ravine.  Up  from  the  ravine,  on  the 
windless  air,  came  the  light  clamour  of  Blue 
Ridge  Brook,  an  unconsidered  tributary  of 
the  turbulent  Ottanoonsis.  For  some  fifteen 
feet  along  the  face  of  the  steep  ran  a  broken 
ledge,  which  led  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave. 
Full  upon  the  entrance  shone  now  the  un- 
clouded moonlight,  washing  whitely  across 
the  straight  spires  of  the  fir  trees  in  the  valley 
below. 

It  was  obviously  a  perilous  cul-de-sac, 
with  no  back  door  to  retreat  by,  but  Ishmael 
did  not  hesitate.  He  knew  that  the  old  bear 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS    317 

was  far  away,  down  in  the  thickets  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ridge,  devouring  her  stolen 
meal.  He  glided  along  the  ledge,  his  dark, 
lithe  shape  conspicuous  for  a  moment  in  the 
moonlight.  Then  he  slipped  into  the  cave. 

The  two  glossy  cubs,  about  the  size  of  house 
cats,  were  beginning  to  get  hungry.  Huddled 
together  at  the  back  of  the  den,  they  were 
whimpering  softly  to  themselves,  their  small, 
pointed  ears  cocked  to  listen  for  the  shuffle 
of  their  mother's  returning  footsteps,  their 
bright,  droll  little  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  the 
patch  of  brightness  that  filled  their  doorway. 
Suddenly  they  saw,  not  their  mother's  huge 
form,  which  always  blotted  out  the  light,  but 
a  low,  slender  shape,  which  entered  with  a 
graceful,  leaping  bound.  They  knew  at  once 
that  it  was  deadly,  that  leaping  figure,  whose 
eyes  fixed  theirs  with  so  steady  and  cruel  a 
glare ;  and  both  set  up  a  shrill,  whimpering 
call  for  help. 

But  the  two  cubs  were  very  different  in  their 
tempers,  as  often  happens  in  the  case  of  ani- 
mals so  variable  and  so  highly  individualized 
as  the  bear.  One  of  the  two  faced  the  peril 
boldly,  a  baby  paw  uplifted  to  strike,  and 
the  thin,  black  edges  of  his  lips  curled  back 


318     ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

defiantly  from  his  tiny  teeth.  The  other, 
appalled  on  the  instant  by  the  menace  of  those 
approaching  eyes,  shivered  violently  and  lost  all 
power  of  motion. 

It  was  this  little  unfortunate  that  first 
caught  IshmaePs  eye.  Darting  straight  at 
its  throat,  he  rolled  it  over  on  its  back  and  be- 
gan tearing  it  savagely.  There  was  the  joy  of 
satisfied  vengeance  in  that  kill,  and  Ishmael, 
for  the  moment,  forgot  his  cunning. 

A  few  seconds  later  he  was  disturbed  by  a 
feeble  clawing  and  nipping  at  his  hind-quarters. 
The  other  cub,  being  of  the  mettle  which 
recks  not  of  odds,  had  come  valiantly  to  the 
aid  of  his  little  bed-fellow.  With  dripping 
jaws  and  a  furious  snarl,  Ishmael  whipped 
about  to  rid  himself  of  this  ineffectual  assailant. 
But  in  that  same  instant  his  ears  caught  the 
sound  of  a  swift  padding  on  the  rocks  outside. 
With  one  lightning  bound,  as  if  his  body  were 
all  steel  springs,  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
cave. 

But  in  the  same  instant  the  mother  bear, 
breathless  with  haste,  reached  it  also.  Some 
shock  of  instinctive  fear  had  shaken  her  at 
the  very  beginning  of  her  feast,  and  she  had 
not  lingered  to  think  about  it  —  she  had  come. 


ISHMAEL  OF  THE  HEMLOCKS     319 

One  huge  paw,  with  a  sweeping  stroke,  met 
Ishmael  full  in  the  face,  crushing  his  head 
back  between  his  shoulders  and  pinning  him 
to  the  rock.  Then  the  other  descended  like  a 
pile-driver  upon  his  slender  loins.  Even  in 
his  death-throe  Ishmael' s  jaws  worked,  biting 
madly  and  blindly.  But  in  a  second  or  two 
it  was  all  over.  He  lay  without  a  quiver,  a 
shapeless  mass  of  blood  and  fur  beneath  the 
avenger's  feet. 

The  old  bear  drew  back  and  eyed  the  body 
for  a  moment,  then  she  hurried  into  the 
den,  whimpering  with  anxiety.  The  uninjured 
cub  came  sprawling  forward  to  meet  her. 
She  gave  him  a  hasty  lick  and  sniff,  assuring 
herself  that  he  was  not  hurt,  and  then  turned 
to  the  dead  one.  Whining,  she  sniffed  at  it, 
and  licked  it,  and  turned  it  over  tenderly  with 
her  paw.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  full  minute 
before  she  could  quite  make  up  her  mind  that 
it  was  dead.  When  she  could  no  longer  doubt 
the  truth,  she  stopped  whining.  Lifting  the 
limp  little  body  in  her  jaws,  she  carried  it  out- 
side the  cave  and  laid  it  down  lingeringly  on  a 
steep  slope  of  rock.  As  if  this  were  just  what 
she  had  planned  for,  it  slipped  slowly  from  its 
place  and  fell  sprawlingly,  rolling  over  and 


320    ISHMAEL  OF  THE   HEMLOCKS 

over,   till   it  lodged  and  hung  in   the  branches 
of  an  aged  spruce  some  fifty  feet  below. 

The  mother  did  not  stay  to  watch  it.  Turn- 
ing back  abruptly,  she  threw  herself  once  more 
upon  the  carcase  of  Ishmael,  beating  it  and 
rending  it  with  her  claws  till  it  resembled 
nothing  that  had  ever  roamed  the  wilds. 
Being  a  fastidious  feeder  in  her  way  —  a  lover  of 
honey  and  fruits  and  delicate  meat  —  she  would 
not  condescend  to  eat  this  rank  and  fibrous 
flesh.  When  she  had  fully  wreaked  her  ven- 
geance upon  it,  she  flung  it  contemptuously  far 
over  the  ledge,  and  withdrew  into  the  cave  to 
suckle  her  remaining  little  one.  As  for  what 
remained  of  Ishmael,  it  fell  to  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine,  there  to  feed  some  ancient  grudge 
of  fox  or  wild-cat,  or,  perhaps,  more  ignomini- 
ously,  to  make  long  festival  for  the  scavenger 
beetles  and  the  blow-flies. 


The   Spotted   Stranger 

HE  looked  curiously  out  of  place  in  these 
austere,  dark-green,  brown-carpeted 
northern  woods  of  spruce  and  fir.  His  bright 
golden-tawny  coat,  sown  with  vivid  black  spots, 
made  him  very  conspicuous  in  the  shadowy 
glooms. 

And  he  felt  quite  as  out  of  place  as  he 
looked.  He  had  never  before  seen  anything 
like  these  northern  woods.  In  his  native 
Indian  jungle,  where  the  air  steamed  and 
quivered,  reeking  with  heavy  scents,  there 
was  always  a  riot  of  hot  colour,  much 
golden-yellow  of  stem  and  leaf  and  burnt 
bamboo  mingling  with  the  rank  greens  and 
glowing  blossoms,  and  all  splashed  with 
thick  blotchy  shadows  under  the  intense 
sun.  Into  such  surroundings  his  own  hot 
colouring  had  ever  blended  to  a  marvel,  so 
that  it  had  been  hard  for  the  most  vigilant 

Y  32I 


322      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

of  eyes  to  detect  him  as  he  went  prowling 
noiselessly  in  search  of  his  prey.  But  here 
he  felt  himself  naked  to  every  observer. 
Half  angry,  half  afraid,  his  powerful  tail 
lashed  jerkily  from  side  to  side  as  he  crept 
along,  belly  to  earth,  his  fierce  eyes  glancing 
this  way  and  that  in  search  of  either  a  quarry 
or  a  hiding-place. 

He  was  hungry,  this  lean  Indian  leopard; 
but  a  place  wherein  to  conceal  himself  and 
rest,  while  taking  stock,  so  to  speak,  of  his 
new  surroundings,  was  even  more  important 
to  him  than  food.  His  nerves  were  still 
quivering  from  the  shouts  and  screams,  the 
choking  smoke,  the  blinding  glare,  the  flames 
that  had  seemed  to  pounce  and  lick  hungrily 
after  him,  and  all  the  maddening  uproar  of 
the  fire  which  had  destroyed  the  circus  and 
set  him  free.  He  did  not  know  that  he 
owed  his  escape  to  a  kindly  attendant  who 
had  opened  his  cage  in  the  turmoil,  only  to 
be  knocked  down  and  terribly  clawed  in  his 
wild  plunge  for  safety.  He  hardly  knew,  or 
he  remembered  but  confusedly,  how  in  his 
flight  through  the  settled  country  he  had 
been  shot  at,  chased  by  yelping  dogs,  charged 
by  a  herd  of  angry  and  curious  cattle,  and 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      323 

all  but  run  down  by  a  roaring  locomotive 
whose  speed  he  had  perilously  misjudged. 
All  that  he  quite  realized  just  now  was  the 
cool  solitude  and  the  silence,  and,  very 
keenly,  the  strange  vistas  of  the  tree-trunks, 
which  seemed  to  be  always  opening  out  from 
him  in  every  direction.  They  kept  him 
glancing  ceaselessly  every  way  at  once,  in  a 
fashion  most  exhausting  to  the  nerves.  He 
grew  as  anxious  as  a  cornered  rat  for  a  hole. 
What  he  wanted  was  a  place  that  he  could 
back  into,  and  thence  stare  out  with  some 
sense  of  security  upon  this  altogether  novel 
and  uncomprehended  species  of  world. 
Savage,  crafty,  powerful,  and  confident  in 
his  powers,  he  had  little  fear  of  what  he 
knew  and  understood.  But,  like  most  highly- 
organized  creatures  with  some  development 
of  the  imagination,  he  feared  the  unknown. 
He  wanted  to  make  sure  of  a  fair  chance 
to  observe  it  before  undertaking  to  cope 
with  it. 

Yet  what  seemed  to  him  a  solitude  was  in 
reality  populous  enough,  had  his  eyes  but 
been  initiated  to  it.  The  tiny,  grey-brown, 
elfin  shapes  of  the  wood-mice  stared  at  him 
an  instant,  then  fell  back  with  thin  squeaks 


324      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

of  amazement  into  their  burrows  under  the 
fir  roots.  From  behind  a  stump  a  yellow- 
brown  weasel,  of  the  same  hue  as  the  carpet 
of  dead  fir  needles,  glared  at  him  with  eyes 
as  wild  as  his  own  and  far  more  savagely 
malignant.  Little  black-and-white  wood- 
peckers, running  up  the  hemlock  trunks, 
peered  around  at  him  curiously,  keeping 
their  bodies  well  out  of  the  range  of  his 
baleful  stare.  The  chicadees  stopped  hunting 
insects  under  the  bark,  and  wondered  at  him 
as  he  passed,  then  flew  on  ahead,  with  a  fine- 
drawn tsic-a-dee-dee-dee,  to  get  another  look 
at  so  novel  a  visitor  to  the  fir  forests.  And 
a  big  porcupine,  hanging  sleepily  in  a  hem- 
lock branch,  glanced  down  upon  him  with 
eyes  of  supreme  indifference. 

At  last,  however,  a  red  squirrel  chanced  to 
catch  sight  of  the  bright-spotted  stranger. 
Frisking  nearer,  from  branch  to  branch,  he 
ran  half-way  down  a  big  trunk,  spread  legs 
and  tail  wide,  scrutinized  the  leopard  with 
his  great,  luminous,  unspeakably  insolent  eyes, 
and  set  up  a  chatter  so  shrill  that  the  quiet 
aisles  of  the  forest  rang  with  it. 

Thoroughly  startled,  the  leopard  crouched 
in  his  tracks,  and  shrank  as  if  some  one  had 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      325 

flicked  a  whip  in  his  face.  Then  in  a  rage  he 
pounced  at  the  impudent  little  reviler.  Of 
course,  the  latter  was  gone  in  an  eye-wink, 
and  his  loud  mockery  shrilled  out  from  the 
top  of  the  tree.  Up  went  the  leopard  after 
him,  agile  and  swift.  But  almost  in  the 
same  instant  the  squirrel  was  shrieking  his 
insults  from  the  next  tree  and  the  next. 

Much  disgusted,  the  leopard  came  down 
again  and  resumed  his  journey.  His  insulter, 
he  decided,  was  much  too  insignificant  to 
be  noticed,  either  as  a  prey  or  as  a  foe.  But 
in  this  he  was  mistaken.  The  noisy  abuse  of 
the  little  red  imp  brought  several  more  of  his 
kind,  equally  eloquent;  and  to  swell  the 
clamour  came  presently  some  half-dozen  blue 
jays  and  whisky-jacks,  who  fluttered  and 
whistled  and  squealed  about  the  brilliant 
stranger  till  his  heart  was  ready  to  burst 
with  the  sheer  cold  impotence  of  his  rage. 
To  be  sure,  he  had  known  something  not 
unlike  this  before,  when,  in  his  own  jungle, 
he  had  been  baited  and  reviled  by  a 
throng  of  gibbering  monkeys.  In  that  case 
he  had  at  last  succeeded  in  catching  one  of 
his  revilers  and  eating  him  —  a  most  consoling 
form  of  vengeance.  But  his  present  tor- 


326      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

mentors  were  so  little  and  elusive  that  he 
could  indulge  himself  in  no  such  hope. 

At  last,  however,  he  came  to  a  sort  of 
tangle  of  rock  overgrown  with  brambles, 
bracken,  and  birch  saplings,  and  therein  he 
presently  found  a  crevice  which  almost 
amounted  to  a  cave.  Crawling  into  it,  he 
turned  around  and  lay  down  with  a  vast 
sense  of  relief.  The  retreat  was  so  small 
that  his  head  came  out  to  the  very  entrance, 
making  his  concealment  somewhat  incomplete. 
But  at  least  no  mysterious  enemy  could  now 
come  upon  him  from  the  rear.  His  front  he 
would  make  shift  to  defend  against  all 
comers. 

As  soon  as  he  was  settled,  he  curled  his 
great  paws  demurely  under  his  chin,  shut  his 
eyes  to  the  narrowest  thread-like  slits,  and 
appeared  to  sleep.  Encouraged  by  this  in- 
difference, his  tormentors  flocked  down 
among  the  bracken,  almost  under  his  nose. 
He  took  no  notice.  The  jays  became  par- 
ticularly audacious,  screaming  and  hopping 
up  with  lifted  wings,  and  cocking  their 
bright  eyes  at  him  in  unmeasured  derision. 
At  last  one  alighted  within  a  couple  of  feet 
of  his  very  muzzle.  For  a  fraction  of  a 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      327 

second  the  rash  bird  saw  a  pair  of  immense 
pale  eyes  that  opened  suddenly  upon  her. 
Then  a  spotted  paw  shot  forth,  swift  as 
light,  and  she  was  but  a  flattened  bunch  of 
bright  blue  feathers  under  it. 

With  an  outburst  of  hysterical  shrieks,  the 
whole  mob,  squirrels  and  all,  took  themselves 
off.  The  stranger,  blinking  with  satisfaction, 
devoured  the  meagre  prize,  and  wiped  the 
feathers  from  his  chaps  with  both  paws. 

The  clamour  of  jay  and  squirrel  having 
died  away,  the  stranger  lay  looking  out 
quietly  upon  his  new  domain.  For  a  long 
time  nothing  stirred.  But  the  forest  soon 
forgets.  In  a  little  while  the  leopard  marked 
a  curious  figure  prowling  between  the  trunks 
some  forty  or  fifty  paces  from  his  hiding- 
place.  He  saw  at  once  that  it  was  some  kind 
of  a  cat,  but  with  strange,  high,  humped 
hindquarters,  a  mere  stub  of  a  tail, 
and  a  very  large  round  face,  fiercely  ruffed 
and  whiskered.  It  was  not  as  large  as 
himself,  by  any  means ;  but,  all  the  same,  it 
was  so  formidable-looking  that  he  thought 
best  not  to  go  out  and  try  conclusions  with 
it  —  at  least,  not  till  he  should  come  to  feel  a 
little  better  acquainted.  Such  an  enterprise 


328      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

as  that  could  wait.  Even  as  he  was  coming 
to  this  conclusion  the  lynx  picked  up  his 
trail.  At  that  great  footprint  and  menacing, 
unknown  scent,  the  grim  prowler  stopped 
short.  For  a  moment  he  sniffed  at  the  trail 
inquiringly,  the  long  hair  lifting  slowly  along 
his  back.  Then  with  pale,  wide  eyes  he 
swept  an  apprehensive  glare  about  him,  and 
went  off  with  huge,  noiseless  leaps  through 
the  grey  trunks. 

The  leopard  blinked  again,  and  opened 
and  shut  his  great  claws  like  a  gratified  cat. 
He  was  beginning  to  stand  less  in  awe  of 
this  strange  northern  world. 

The  lynx  had  not  been  more  than  five 
minutes  gone  when  a  brown  rabbit  came 
leaping  excitedly  through  the  bracken.  It 
appeared  to  be  fleeing  from  some  pursuer. 
Just  in  front  of  the  cave  it  halted,  sat  up  on 
its  haunches,  and  glanced  back  nervously, 
its  immense  ears  apprehensively  erect.  With 
one  bound,  the  leopard  shot  from  his  doorway 
and  fell  upon  it.  This  was  a  kill  worth 
making,  and  he  cared  little  what  other  hunter 
had  been  trying  for  it.  As  he  lay  making 
his  meal,  a  lithe,  tawny  little  shape  darted 
from  the  bracken,  snarled  venomously  in  his 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      329 

very  face,  and  flashed  away  before  he  could 
put  his  paw  upon  it. 

After  this  repast  the  stranger  slept  com- 
fortably for  an  hour  or  so,  and  woke  up 
feeling  considerably  at  home  with  his  novel 
surroundings.  It  seemed  pretty  evident  that 
he  was  going  to  find  good  hunting,  and 
he  had  as  yet  seen  no  sign  of  any  creature 
strong  enough  or  daring  enough  to  challenge 
his  right  to  it.  The  forest  was  now  dim  with 
the  first  purples  of  the  twilight,  and  he  felt 
himself  called  to  the  chase.  No  longer  a 
nervous  fugitive,  but  master  of  a  snug  lair 
and  lord  of  an  apparently  limitless  range,  he 
stalked  forth,  stretched  himself  luxuriously, 
and  wandered  off  to  look  for  water. 

Only  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  beyond 
his  retreat  he  found  it  —  a  low-shored,  glassy 
lake,  now  glimmering  with  amber  and  violet 
under  the  last  of  the  sunset.  Crouching  at 
the  water's  edge,  he  stared  up  and  down  the 
lonely  shores  as  he  drank,  and  then  quickly 
shrank  back  among  the  fir  trees.  He  had 
caught  sight  of  many  fine  hoof-tracks  lead- 
ing down  to  the  white  beach,  and  realized  that 
there  were  deer  about.  The  deer  were  his 
favourite  quarry.  He  licked  his  lips  and 


330      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

climbed  hastily  into  a  big  hemlock  con- 
veniently near  the  trails. 

From  the  deeps  of  violet  sky  straight 
overhead  came  the  long,  twanging  note  of 
a  swooping  night-hawk.  It  was  a  strange 
sound  to  the  wanderer  from  the  tropics,  and 
he  peered  upwards  curiously  through  the 
branches,  unable  to  make  it  out.  Then  his 
attention  was  diverted  by  a  sound  of  foot- 
falls coming  down  the  trail.  They  were 
heavy  footfalls,  which  made  the  dry  twigs 
crackle  heedlessly,  as  if  the  wayfarer  did  not 
care  who  knew  of  his  comings  or  his  goings. 
The  leopard  curled  his  lips  back  from  his 
fangs  at  this  manifestation  of  self-confidence, 
and  drew  himself  together  for  a  tremendous 
spring.  From  the  nature  of  the  footfalls 
his  experienced  ear  told  him  that  it  was  no 
pad-footed  creature  that  was  approaching, 
but  a  hoofed  beast  of  some  sort,  and  he  ex- 
pected a  heavy  buck,  upon  whose  neck  he 
would  fall  and  tear  his  throat. 

But  at  sight  of  the  shape  which  came 
stalking  into  his  view  he  changed  his  mind 
for  the  moment.  This  was  not  a  beast  to 
be  challenged  lightly. 

It  was  a  bull  moose,  tall   and  black  and  im- 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER     331 

posing.  His  immense  and  humped  shoulders, 
short,  thick  neck,  and  massive,  long-snouted 
head  proclaimed  the  strength  of  a  buffalo; 
while  the  fierce,  little  twinkling  eyes,  which 
disdained  to  keep  a  look-out  for  enemies, 
showed  a  spirit  which  would  know  how  to 
use  that  strength.  His  broad,  palmated 
antlers,  of  vast  spread  and  apparently  enor- 
mous weight,  were  such  a  weapon  as  the 
leopard  had  never  before  contemplated,  and 
they  made  a  great  impression  upon  him.  He 
could  not  know,  of  course,  that  at  this  season 
the  antlers  were  not  yet  fully  developed, 
but  spongy  and  tender  and  altogether  use- 
less. 

The  moose  strode  on  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  waded  out  belly  deep,  and  with  noisy 
splashings  began  pulling  the  tough-rooted 
water-lily  stems.  The  lake  was  shallow,  and 
he  was  so  far  out  from  shore  that  the  leopard 
could  not  observe  him  very  well.  Consumed 
with  curiosity,  he  came  down  out  of  his  tree, 
crept  to  the  waterside,  and  there  crouched 
staring. 

Presently  the  moose,  catching  sight  of 
that  spotted,  sinuous  form  on  the  beach, 
stopped  pulling  lilies  and  stared  haughtily 


332      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

in  return.  The  longer  he  stared,  the  less  he 
seemed  to  like  the  stranger's  looks.  First 
he  snorted  his  distaste,  loudly  and  unmistak- 
ably; then  he  came  splashing  heavily  shore- 
ward to  give  more  forcible  expression  to  his 
dislike.  For  a  moment  or  two  the  leopard 
stood  his  ground,  as  if  ready  to  try  conclu- 
sions at  once  with  this  formidable  rival; 
then,  thinking  better  of  it,  he  withdrew 
slowly  up  the  beach.  The  moose,  quite 
unimpressed  either  by  his  dignity  or  by  his 
look  of  dangerous  power,  came  ashore  with  a 
rush  and  charged  after  him,  all  dripping. 

With  a  harsh  snarl,  the  leopard  wheeled 
and  crouched  to  spring.  To  his  amazement, 
the  great  black  beast,  instead  of  coming  at 
him  head  down  as  he  expected,  danced 
forward,  striking  out  swiftly  with  great 
battering  fore-hooves,  whose  edges  would 
cut  like  steel.  Confounded  by  such  an 
unheard-of  mode  of  attack,  which  he  did 
not  know  how  to  meet,  the  leopard  sprang 
lithely  aside  and  ran  up  his  hemlock  tree. 
Apparently  much  surprised  at  this  perform- 
ance, the  moose  stopped  short  and  stood  for 
some  moments  staring  and  snorting.  Then 
he  shook  himself  long  and  well,  turned  his 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      333 

back,  wriggled  his  meagre  little  tail  con- 
temptuously, and  loitered  off  into  the  woods, 
browsing  as  he  went. 

In  a  very  ugly  mood  after  this  discomfiture, 
the  leopard  dropped  presently  from  his  perch 
and  crept  stealthily  homeward.  He  would 
wait  till  later  in  the  night  for  his  deer-hunting. 
In  his  breast  rankled  a  savage  hate  for  the 
big  black  beast  which  had  so  outfaced 
him,  and  he  studied  for  his  revenge.  It 
was  in  this  unconsidering  frame  of  mind 
that  he  encountered  a  little  black-and-white 
creature,  hardly  so  big  as  a  rabbit,  which 
crossed  his  path,  and  paused  to  look  at  him 
with  leisurely  curiosity. 

Had  he  been  cooler,  the  mere  fact  that  a 
creature  so  tiny  did  not  seem  to  fear  him 
would  have  been  enough  in  itself  to  make 
him  pause  and  investigate.  There  was  some- 
thing altogether  unnatural  in  such  an  atti- 
tude; but  instead  of  taking  warning,  he  was 
only  the  more  enraged  by  what  seemed  to 
him  an  unparalleled  piece  of  impudence. 
He  pounced  with  a  snarl.  At  the  same 
instant  something  terrible  struck  him  full 
in  the  face.  It  was  blinding,  suffocating,  in- 
describable. With  a  strangling  cry  he  jerked 


334     THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

himself  backwards;  and  the  little  striped 
thing,  slipping  out  unhurt  from  almost 
between  his  paws,  strolled  off  calmly  among 
the  bushes.  It  was  a  great  piece  of  bad 
luck  for  the  spotted  stranger  from  India 
that  he  had  never  been  taught  anything  about 
skunks. 

With  that  strangling  horror  in  his  eyes 
and  nostrils  —  viscous,  clinging,  all-pervasive 
—  it  was  some  seconds  before  the  leopard 
could  draw  breath.  Then  he  went  into  a 
paroxysm,  pawing  frantically  at  his  face  and 
rolling  in  the  moss  and  ferns.  The  pawing 
did  no  good,  so  at  last  he  took  to  rooting  deep 
through  the  moss  and  down  into  the  cool, 
moist  mould  beneath.  Instinctively  he  had 
found  his  way  to  Nature's  own  remedy  for  his 
trouble.  Fresh  earth  is  the  best  antidote 
and  the  best  cleanser  for  it.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  could  draw  his  breath  fairly,  and 
make  shift  to  see;  but  to  get  himself  clean, 
that  was  another  matter.  And,  oh,  how  he 
hated  himself !  As  soon  as  he  could  see 
clearly  enough,  he  went  racing  though  the 
woods  hi  a  crazy  effort  to  escape  from  that 
overpowering  smell.  He  was  fairly  exhausted 
before  he  came  to  realize  that  he  was  carrying 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      335 

it  with  him.  Then,  returning  somewhat  to 
his  senses,  he  scratched  a  big  hole  in  the 
moist  earth,  and  fell  to  rolling,  burrowing, 
and  wallowing  in  it.  When  that  wallow 
was  too  thoroughly  infected  to  be  of  any 
use,  he  went  on  and  dug  himself  another, 
and  yet  again  another.  By  the  time  the 
first  of  the  dawn  had  begun  to  steal  coldly 
through  the  forest,  he  had  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done.  Thereupon  he  made  an  elaborate 
toilet,  pawing  and  licking  himself  like  a  cat, 
till  at  last  he  managed  to  persuade  himself 
that  he  was  once  more  clean.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  however,  he  still  carried  upon  his 
fur  —  as  he  would  for  days  —  a  pungent 
and  sickening  reminder  of  his  insignificant- 
looking  but  terrible  little  foe. 

Bitter  as  had  been  the  experience,  the 
leopard  forthwith  began  to  reap  a  certain 
substantial  benefit  from  it.  His  own  scent, 
which  most  of  the  wild  creatures  found 
so  terrifying,  was  for  the  time  thoroughly 
disguised.  The  rabbits,  always  curious,  would 
not  allow  him  to  come  quite  within  leaping 
distance  before  taking  alarm.  Because  he 
smelled  like  a  skunk,  they  stupidly  concluded 


336      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

that  he  could  leap  no  further  than  a  skunk. 
The  deer,  too  —  it  was  surprising  how  easy 
they  were  to  stalk,  so  long  as  they  were  not 
allowed  to  catch  sight  of  him.  If  they  saw 
him,  of  course  they  did  not  stop  to  investi- 
gate. They  knew  nothing  of  leopards,  these 
Canadian  deer,  but  they  had  an  ominous 
tradition  of  panthers  in  the  family;  and 
they  had  wit  enough  to  know  that  what 
looked  like  a  panther  with  spots  was  not 
improbably  quite  as  dangerous  as  one  with- 
out that  adornment. 

Full  fed  on  rabbit  and  deer  meat,  and  his 
nostrils  at  length  somewhat  blunted  to  the 
unsavoury  scent  which  everywhere  accom- 
panied him,  during  the  next  four  or  five 
days  the  leopard  grew  very  well  content 
with  his  surroundings.  The  one  fly  in  his 
ointment  was  the  great  bull  moose.  Day 
after  day,  from  some  secure  concealment,  he 
observed  the  arrogantly  indifferent  black 
monster,  and  bared  fang  and  claw  with 
impotent  rage.  But  never  could  he  quite 
make  up  his  mind  to  provoke  the  perilous 
encounter.  He  felt  that  he  might  perhaps 
win  by  dropping  upon  the  bull's  neck  from 
some  convenient  branch.  But  then,  again, 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      337 

he  felt  that  he  might  lose.  And  the  idea  of 
being  slashed  and  stamped  down  by  those 
great  splay  hooves,  which  sometimes  clacked 
so  strangely  as  their  owner  went  by,  filled  him 
with  discretion.  He  wisely  concluded  that 
the  time  was  not  yet  ripe  for  that  adventure. 

And  while  he  was  nursing  this  grudge,  came 
the  day  of  his  great  mistake. 

Overlooking  the  lake  was  a  slope  of 
mountain-side  covered  with  patches  of  blue- 
berry barren,  and  rising  suddenly  to  a  half 
naked  up  thrust  of  grey  granite.  Thinking 
perhaps  to  enlarge  the  bounds  of  his  range, 
and  perhaps  to  vary  his  diet  a  little  with 
unknown  game,  the  leopard  started  to  ex- 
plore the  nearer  slopes. 

The  blueberries  were  in  their  prime  here 
in  this  high,  cold,  late-summered  region. 
They  clung  thick-massed  all  over  the  low 
bushes,  bright  as  globules  of  lapis-lazuli 
under  the  downpour  of  the  sparkling  sun- 
light. Shoulder  deep  among  them  the  leop- 
ard marked  a  small,  glossy-black,  chubby 
animal,  who  was  stripping  and  gulping 
down  the  juicy  fruit  with  loud  gulps 
of  satisfaction.  Sometimes,  as  if  unable 
to  absorb  them  fast  enough  by  any  other 


338      THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

process,  he  would  sit  up  on  his  plump 
little  haunches,  grasp  the  whole  top  of  a 
loaded  bush  in  his  forearms,  and  fairly 
wallow  his  face  in  it  till  the  purple  juices 
daubed  him  to  the  very  ears. 

The  leopard  knew  at  once  that  this  droll 
and  greedy  little  beast  was  a  bear  cub, 
rolling  in  fat  and  exceedingly  good  to  eat. 
As  it  happened,  he  was  acquainted  with  only 
two  kinds  of  bear  —  the  little,  humorous 
black  bear  of  the  Himalayas,  courageous 
enough,  but  feeble,  and  the  sluggish,  in- 
offensive ant-bear.  He  was  quite  ignorant 
of  the  temper  and  the  capabilities  of  the  black 
bear  of  Eastern  Canada.  And  ignorance  is 
one  of  those  faults  which  Nature,  sternest 
of  parents,  is  apt  at  times  to  punish  with 
the  most  implacable  severity.  It  is  not  all 
her  children  who  are  fortunate  enough  to 
survive  her  harsh  lessons. 

The  leopard  crouched  for  a  few  minutes, 
watching  with  narrowed  lids  the  riotous 
feasting  of  the  cub.  Then  his  appetite  and 
his  ferocity  overcame  him.  The  cub  seemed 
to  be  alone,  and  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  in 
any  case,  from  such  bears  as  he  knew  any- 
thing about.  Like  a  great  missile  of  spotted 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      339 

gold,  he  hurled  himself  through  the  air,  fell 
upon  the  merry  cub,  and  bit  through  its 
neck  with  one  crunch  of  his  powerful  jaws. 
Then,  not  liking  the  glare  and  exposure  of 
the  open,  he  lifted  the  limp  little  body 
and  turned  to  carry  it  in  under  the  fir 
trees. 

Even  as  he  turned,  a  great  shadow  came 
between  him  and  the  sun.  Instinctively  he 
bounded  aside.  But  in  the  very  instant 
that  his  tense  limbs  left  the  ground,  a 
gigantic  bulk  fell  upon  him,  crushing  him 
back  again.  With  a  screech  of  startled 
fury,  he  writhed  from  under  it,  one  flank 
flayed  to  the  ribs  by  the  impact  of  the 
mother  bear's  avenging  paw.  She  strove 
to  hold  him  down  with  her  great  weight. 
But  his  muscles,  lithe  as  whipcord,  had  the 
knit  strength  of  steel,  together  with  a  well- 
nigh  unbelievable  store  of  elastic  nervous 
energy.  The  explosive  violence  of  his  con- 
tortions almost  succeeded  in  throwing  her  off 
-  almost,  but  not  quite.  Foiled  in  his  effort 
to  break  from  her  deadly  clutch,  he  twisted 
his  body  around  so  that  he  could  bite  at  her 
throat  and  bring  his  claws  into  action. 
Very  gladly  would  he  have  made  his  escape 


340     THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER 

and  fled  without  shame,  for  this  was  no 
such  bear  as  had  ever  before  come  within 
his  range  of  imagination.  But,  rinding  escape 
impossible,  he  was  going  to  show  this 
monster  his  mettle.  Sinking  his  foreclaws 
deep  into  his  assailant's  neck,  he  arched  his 
long,  flexible  back  like  a  strung  bow,  and 
raked  her  flank  and  belly  with  the  terrible, 
eviscerating  weapons  of  his  hinder  paws. 

Breaking  for  the  first  time  the  silence  of 
her  avenging  rage,  the  bear  gave  vent  to  a 
loud  wah-ah  of  pain  and  consternation. 
Such  a  hideous  method  of  fighting  was  new 
to  her.  Savagely  she  strove  to  pluck  the 
spotted  beast  off,  that  she  might  hold  him 
at  arm's  length  and  smash  him.  But  he 
clung  like  blazing  oil.  Finding  it  impossible 
to  fling  him  off,  she  changed  her  tactics, 
and  hugged  him  to  her  chest  with  her  tre- 
mendous forearms.  For  a  moment  or  two 
his  tense  muscles  withstood  the  terrific 
pressure,  while  he  continued  to  rip  her 
with  his  hind  claws.  Then,  with  a  gasping 
screech,  he  collapsed.  Those  inexorable  arms 
crushed,  constricted,  annihilated,  till  the 
last  breath  went  out  of  his  lungs,  the  last 
pulse  of  life  from  his  heart,  and  his  lank 


THE   SPOTTED   STRANGER      341 

hindquarters  trailed  from  that  embrace  limp 
as  a  dead  rabbit's. 

As  she  felt  the  straining  body  relax  in  her 
grip,  and  the  round,  flat  head  fell  back  with 
eyes  bulging,  the  bear  tore  out  the  exposed 
throat  with  her  teeth  as  if  to  make  quite  sure 
of  her  victory.  Then,  letting  the  body  drop, 
she  fell  on  all  fours  and  sniffed  and  whim- 
pered over  the  form  of  her  dead  little  one. 
Speedily  satisfying  herself  that  it  was  indeed 
quite  dead,  she  dragged  herself  away  with  her 
shocking  wounds  to  the  gloom  of  some  deep 
thicket,  there  in  solitude  to  die  or  to  recover 
as  the  fates  of  the  wilderness  might  decree. 

The  brilliant  skin  of  the  dead  leopard, 
spotted  with  black  and  splashed  thick  with 
crimson,  lying  there  exposed  beside  the  black 
body  of  the  cub,  caught  the  eye  of  a  white- 
headed  eagle  soaring  high  above  the  bare 
granite  peak.  In  wide  spirals,  on  all  but 
motionless  wings,  he  sank  lower  and  lower, 
till  at  length  he  passed  close  above  the  bodies, 
peering  down  at  them  with  outstretched  snowy 
neck  and  hard,  glassy,  black-and-golden  eyes. 
But  he  did  not  care  to  alight,  for  the  spotted 
stranger  looked  dangerous  to  him  even  in 
death.  Presently  he  winged  away  again 


•4- 


•CrrTED  STRANGER 

:     -•    -    -.-.    Si-     ::    ---•   -: 


The   Feud 

THE  dog  was  a  handsome,  heavily-built 
nondescript,  a  mongrel,  but  a  mongrel 
of  distinguished  blends.  Muzzle  and  ears 
and  the  aristocratic  dome  of  the  skull  showed 
the  large  strain  of  hound  in  his  ancestry. 
The  wavy,  red-gold  coat  and  feathering 
of  tail  and  legs  told  of  the  Irish  setter  in  his 
line,  while  the  bowed  and  shortened  legs, 
the  massiveness  of  chest  and  shoulder,  were 
eloquent  of  the  incongruous  dash  of  bull. 
With  such  warring  elements  in  his  blood, 
his  temper,  as  may  be  imagined,  was  none 
too  certain;  but  his  intelligence  kept  him 
from  letting  it  get  him  into  serious  trouble, 
while  his  fidelity  and  courage,  as  well  as 
his  striking  appearance,  led  the  farmer 
who  owned  him  to  set  great  store  by  him. 
As  a  watch-dog  he  was  the  terror  of  the 
tramps,  who,  after  vain  efforts  to  cajole  him 
into  complaisance  or  lure  him  with  poisoned 

343 


344  THE   FEUD 

tit-bits,  came  to  give  his  neighbourhood  a  wide 
berth. 

But  in  spite  of  his  duties  as  a  watch-dog, 
he  was  by  no  means  always  to  be  found  at 
his  post.  The  farmer  had  taken  no  pains  to 
train  him  to  stay  at  home.  He  had  been 
brought  up  quite  as  casually  as  he  had  been 
bred,  and,  being  an  independent  backwoods 
dog,  he  had  no  idea  at  all  that  his  duties 
required  him  to  be  always  lounging  about 
the  farmyard.  Moreover,  the  strain  of  Irish 
setter  in  his  veins  made  him  restless  and 
curious.  He  was  given  to  ranging  the  open, 
hillocky,  upland  pastures  where  the  surly 
woodchucks  had  their  holes,  or  exploring  the 
deep  woods  down  the  valley  in  search  of 
adventure.  He  was  capable  of  making  an 
adventure  out  of  very  insignificant  material  — 
a  mouse-hole  under  a  root  would  often  suffice 
to  keep  him  digging  frantically  for  an  hour, 
as  if  convinced  that  something  wonderful 
and  new  lay  hidden  at  the  bottom.  But  his 
real  desire  was  an  adversary  that  would  give 
him  a  good  fight  —  something  to  satisfy  the 
vague  but  fiery  craving  in  his  great  jaws  and 
mighty  muscles  and  emulously  pugnacious 
heart. 


THE   FEUD  345 

Driven  by  this  desire,  he  would  follow  up 
the  trails  of  bear  and  lynx  with  hopeful  and 
misguided  enthusiasm;  but,  happily  for  him, 
the  bears  and  the  ripping-clawed  Canada 
lynxes  scrupulously  kept  out  of  his  way.  A 
bear  would  have  made  short  work  of  him; 
and  as  for  the  lynx,  though  he  might  have 
come  off  victorious  in  the  battle,  he  would 
have  been  so  ripped  by  the  great  cat's 
eviscerating  claws  that  he  would  probably 
have  bled  to  death  on  the  triumphal  journey 
home.  But  both  bears  and  lynxes  eyed  him 
with  too  much  suspicion  to  think  of  risking 
an  encounter  with  him.  They  had  seen  him 
in  the  company  of  the  farmer  and  the  farmer's 
gun.  Therefore  they  were  always  sure  that, 
whenever  they  saw  him  alone,  the  farmer  and 
the  farmer's  gun  must  be  lurking  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood,  ready  to  pounce  out 
upon  them  if  ever  they  should  be  so  rash  as 
to  attack  him. 

Of  course,  both  in  the  woods  and  in  the 
upland  pastures  there  were  other  adversaries 
on  whom  the  dog  might  have  vented  his 
longing  for  a  fight.  There  were  the  porcu- 
pines, and  there  were  the  skunks.  But  the 
dog  knew  too  much  to  want  to  get  himself 


346  THE   FEUD 

stuck  full  of  quills  like  a  pin-cushion  full  of 
pins,  and  his  nostrils  were  too  sensitive  for 
him  to  tolerate  the  idea  of  coming  to  close 
quarters  with  a  skunk.  So,  when  he  en- 
countered either  of  these  indolent  and 
arrogant  little  prowlers,  he  gave  them  the 
path  without  shame,  and  took  every  care  not 
to  ruffle  their  feelings. 

It  happened  on  a  certain  spring  morning, 
while  the  green  of  the  birches  was  still  tender 
and  diaphanous,  that  the  vain  pursuit  of  a 
rabbit  led  him  much  further  over  the  uplands 
than  he  had  been  wont  to  range.  He  lost 
the  trail  at  last,  turned  aside  in  ill-humour, 
ran  softly  over  a  low,  sunny  ridge,  and  came 
plump  among  a  litter  of  young  foxes  playing 
about  their  hole. 

Three  whisking  reddish  streaks  vanished 
into  the  hole.  But  the  fourth  cub  was 
yawning,  with  his  eyes  closed,  at  the  instant 
of  the  dog's  arrival,  and  lost  precious  seconds. 
He  jumped  like  a  loosed  spring,  but  he  was 
just  too  late.  A  pair  of  inexorable  jaws 
closed  upon  the  ruddy  brush  of  his  tail,  and 
held  him  fast. 

Baby  though  he  was,  he  was  game,  and  he 
curled  back  to  snap  savagely  at  his  huge 


THE   FEUD  347 

captor.  Another  moment,  and  his  neck  would 
have  been  crushed  between  the  dog's  great 
jaws;  but  in  that  same  moment  the  red 
vixen,  his  mother,  came  to  his  rescue.  With 
a  shrill  yelp  of  rage,  she  hurled  herself  upon 
the  adversary,  and  her  narrow  jaws  slashed 
him  deeply  in  the  neck. 

Startled  at  the  swift  fury  of  this  attack, 
the  dog  dropped  his  prize  and  turned  with  a 
deep  growl  upon  his  fiery  little  assailant. 
She  tried  to  evade  him,  but  he  was  too  quick 
for  her,  and  caught  her  in  his  grip,  while 
the  released  cub  crept  trembling  into  the  hole. 

The  fatal  misfortune  for  the  brave  little 
mother  was  the  strain  of  bull  in  her 
antagonist's  pedigree.  Had  he  once  let  go 
in  order  to  take  a  new  hold  or  to  bite 
again  in  some  more  deadly  part,  with  her 
incredible  quickness  and  wiriness  she  would 
have  twisted  free  and  mockingly  eluded  him. 
But  he  never  let  go.  He  simply  went  on 
biting  and  chewing  deeper,  deeper,  and  ever 
deeper.  The  vixen  tore  and  slashed 
valiantly,  till  the  dog's  rich  coat  was 
crimsoned  with  his  blood.  But  as  she  was 
gripped,  her  fine  jaws  could  not  reach  him 
in  any  vital  spot,  nor  could  they  bite  deep 


348  THE   FEUD 

enough  to  really  divert  him.  Suddenly  her 
mouth  opened  wide  in  a  harsh  yelp,  ending 
in  a  gurgle,  and  her  head  fell  to  one  side 
limply.  Growling  deeply,  the  victor  shook 
her  a  little,  to  make  sure  she  was  not 
shamming.  Then  dropping  her  indifferently, 
he  went  and  sniffed  at  the  hole,  and  finally 
trotted  away  toward  home. 

It  had  not  been  enough  of  a  fight  to  get 
his  bull  blood  thoroughly  aroused,  but  out 
of  it  were  to  follow  consequences  which  he 
little  anticipated. 

Some  ten  minutes  later  the  father  fox 
came  trotting  up  to  his  den.  At  sight  of  the 
body  of  his  mate,  sprawled  limp  before  the 
entrance,  he  stopped  and  stood  rigid,  eyes 
and  ears  and  nostrils  wide  with  startled 
question.  After  perhaps  half  a  minute,  he 
stole  forward  and  sniffed  the  body  over 
minutely.  Then  he  sniffed  at  the  dog's 
tracks,  while  the  stiff  hair  rose  on  his  neck. 
Lastly,  he  slipped  into  the  hole  and  assured 
himself  as  to  the  safety  of  the  young  ones. 
Emerging  a  minute  or  two  later,  he  returned 
to  the  body  of  his  mate,  gave  it  a  hasty, 
compassionate  lick,  and  started  off  on  the 
trail  of  the  dog. 


THE   FEUD  349 


n 

THE  dog  lay  just  outside  the  farmyard 
fence,  licking  his  wounds.  They  were  not 
deep,  the  jaws  of  the  brave  vixen  having  had 
so  poor  an  opportunity  of  doing  themselves 
justice,  but  they  were  smarting  cuts  and 
numerous,  and  the  dog  was  feeling  very 
ill-tempered  over  them. 

All  was  quiet  about  the  farmyard,  the  men 
being  away  at  work  hi  the  fields,  the  women- 
folk busy  in  the  house.  Nothing  stirred  but 
a  few  chickens  scratching  in  the  straw  far 
at  the  other  side  of  the  yard.  Presently 
the  dog,  tired  of  licking  his  bites,  laid  his 
head  between  his  paws  and  went  to  sleep. 
Just  as  he  did  so,  a  large  red  fox,  with  a 
magnificent  plumy  brush,  appeared  around 
the  fence  corner  some  forty  or  fifty  feet 
away,  and  stood,  with  one  fore-paw  uplifted, 
to  eye  the  dog. 

In  the  narrowed,  gleaming  eyes  of  the 
new-comer  there  was  a  look  of  cold  fury,  of 
a  set,  considering  hate  that  was  not  going  to 
balk  itself  by  haste.  Yet  here,  it  seemed, 


350  THE   FEUD 

was  the  instant  opportunity.  The  dog's 
head  faced  the  other  way,  and  he  was 
obviously  asleep.  The  avenger  glanced  all 
about  him  carefully,  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  in  no  danger  of  being  taken  by  sur- 
prise. Then  he  crept  forward,  noiseless  as 
thistle-down,  on  his  light  and  tufted  pads. 

The  avenger  was  no  rash  hot-head,  ready 
to  sacrifice  himself  in  the  uncertain  hope  of 
achieving  his  vengeance.  It  was  his  foe 
alone  that  he  would  punish,  not  himself  and 
the  motherless  whelps  in  his  den  on  the 
uplands.  He  knew  that  in  a  fight  he  was  no 
match  for  the  dog,  who  was  more  than  thrice 
his  weight  and  of  fighting  breed.  Moreover, 
he  understood  the  dog's  method  of  fighting  — 
that  implacable  grip  that  would  never  let  go 
while  life  lasted.  He  had  no  intention  of 
letting  that  grip  once  close  upon  him.  His 
trust  for  the  vengeance  which  he  was  set 
upon  lay  in  his  ingenuity,  his  keen  and  far- 
seeing  craft.  He  did  not  underrate  the 
dog's  intelligence,  but  he  was  confident  in 
pitting  his  own  against  it. 

Within  a  couple  of  yards  of  the  dog's 
hindquarters  he  paused,  gathered  his  legs 
beneath  him,  and  then  pounced  forward  like 


THE   FEUD  351 

lightning.  His  hope  was  to  hamstring  his 
enemy  by  one  lucky  slash  of  his  keen  jaws. 
But  in  the  very  instant  of  his  leap,  the  dog 
moved  —  perhaps  warned  by  some  subtle 
admonition  to  ear  or  nostril  —  and  the 
assailant's  teeth  merely  ripped  a  red  gash 
down  over  his  haunch.  With  a  startled 
snarl,  he  whipped  about  to  grapple  with  this 
unlooked-for  assailant.  But  the  fox  had 
leaped  back  as  lightly  as  he  had  come,  and 
was  now  a  dozen  feet  away,  staring  at  him 
with  baleful  eyes  of  challenge. 

With  a  deep  growl,  the  dog  gave  chase. 
And  the  fox  fled  away  before  him,  not 
towards  the  den  in  the  uplands,  but  straight 
back  towards  the  forest. 

For  his  weight  and  build,  the  dog  ran  well 
enough,  having  sound  wind  and  tireless 
muscles.  But  his  light  and  wiry  adversary 
could  have  left  him  out  of  sight  in  five 
minutes.  This,  however,  was  no  part  of  the 
fox's  plan.  With  consummate  craft,  he  ran 
heavily,  as  if  it  took  all  his  best  effort  to 
keep  ahead;  and  the  dog,  being  too  angry 
to  see  through  this  play-acting,  was  en- 
couraged to  imagine  himself  on  the  point  of 
catching  and  punishing  the  insolent  creature 


352  THE   FEUD 

who  had  dared  to  attack  him  on  his  own 
threshold. 

In  leading  his  enemy  toward  the  forest, 
no  doubt  the  fox  had  some  sinister  purpose 
in  view,  but  in  this  instance  he  failed  to 
develop  it.  As  the  dog  ran  on,  his  anger 
gradually  cooled  down.  As  he  found  himself, 
after  fifteen  minutes  or  so  of  very  tiresome 
effort,  apparently  no  nearer  to  overtaking 
the  brush-tailed  fugitive,  he  remembered 
things  he  wanted  to  do  at  home.  There 
was  a  bone  to  dig  up,  and  another  one  to 
bury.  After  all,  he  had,  as  yet,  no  deep 
grudge  against  this  fox,  whom  it  had  not 
occurred  to  him  to  associate  with  that 
hurried  little  affair  at  the  burrow  on  the 
uplands. 

As  for  a  bite,  that  was  no  indelible  insult. 
His  pace  slackened.  The  fugitive  tried  to 
feign  lameness,  but  it  had  no  effect.  All  at 
once  the  dog  stopped  short,  smelled  carefully 
at  a  bush,  as  if  finding  some  delightfully 
interesting  scent  upon  it,  then  turned  his 
back  and  coolly  trotted  off  homewards.  The 
fox  stared  at  him  irresolutely  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then,  apparently  deciding  to 
postpone  his  vengeance  or  think  out  a  more 


THE   FEUD  353 

effective  plan  for  it,  took  his  own  way,  along 
the  skirts  of  the  wood,  to  his  den  in  the 
uplands. 

Having  the  whole  care  of  the  motherless 
litter  on  his  shoulders,  in  spite  of  the  burning 
urgency  of  his  hate  the  fox  had  no  time, 
during  the  next  few  days,  to  journey  to  the 
farm  and  seek  the  dog  again.  At  last,  the 
youngsters  having  been  removed  to  another 
and  more  secluded  burrow,  and  left  with  a 
whole  rabbit  to  tear  at  in  his  absence,  he 
went,  late  one  night,  to  find  his  adversary. 
He  found  everything  quiet  at  the  farm, 
asleep  under  the  soft  spring  moonlight;  but 
the  dog  was  absent,  probably  chasing  rabbits 
in  the  pasture  fields.  With  bitter  contempt, 
the  fox  defiled  his  enemy's  kennel  and  his 
food-dish,  together  with  several  buried  bones 
which  he  dug  up  and  scattered.  Then, 
leaving  the  hen-roost  and  the  duck-pen 
untouched,  lest  he  should  draw  down  upon 
himself  the  dangerous  attention  of  the 
farmer,  he  trotted  away,  confident  that  his 
enemy  would  understand  the  enormity  of 
the  insults  thus  heaped  upon  him. 

In  this  confidence  he  was  not  astray.  The 
dog,  returning  tired  and  dew-drenched  in 

2  A 


354  THE   FEUD 

the  grey  of  the  dawn,  flew  into  a  paroxysm 
of  rage.  His  keen  scent  told  him  that  his 
insulter  was  the  same  hardy  animal  who  had 
so  recently  attacked  him  on  his  threshold, 
and  then  led  him  so  futile  a  chase.  And  he 
began  to  realize  that  there  was  some  more 
than  ordinary  grudge  behind  these  virulent 
demonstrations.  His  anger  burned  itself 
down  to  a  steady,  dangerous  glow;  and, 
after  sniffing  out  all  his  enemy's  performances 
till  the  situation  was  pretty  clear  to  him, 
he  picked  up  the  trail  and  started  resolutely 
in  pursuit.  The  feud  was  now  fairly  and 
reciprocally  on,  and  he  was  no  longer  in  a 
temper  to  be  diverted  from  his  purpose. 
He,  too,  was  set  on  vengeance. 

In  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the 
farmstead  the  fox's  trail  was  nearly  an 
hour  old,  but  before  long  it  grew  fresher. 
Hoping  to  be  followed,  the  fox  had  lingered 
by  the  way,  catching  a  few  belated  mice,  and 
beetles  yet  torpid  with  the  morning  chill, 
and  a  brooding  ground-sparrow  asleep  upon 
her  eggs.  At  last,  looking  back  from  the 
top  of  a  little  knoll,  he  saw  his  pursuer 
labouring  doggedly  along  his  trail.  He 
waited  motionless  till  the  dog  caught  sight 


THE  FEUD  3SS 

of  him  and  gave  tongue  savagely.  Then  he 
ran  on,  keeping  a  lead  of  less  than  a  hundred 
feet. 

At  first,  it  looked  as  if  the  crafty  fugitive's 
object  was  merely  to  wear  out  his  heavy 
pursuer,  and  so  dimmish  the  odds  of  weight 
and  muscle  against  him.  For  well  over  an 
hour  he  led  the  chase  hither  and  thither 
over  the  roughest  and  most  difficult  ground, 
where  his  lightness  and  his  knowledge  of  the 
faint  trails  enabled  him  to  spare  himself  to 
the  utmost.  But  he  seemed  at  the  point  of 
exhaustion;  he  looked  as  if  he  were  being 
slowly  but  surely  overtaken.  His  pursuer, 
panting  heavily,  and  with  streaming  tongue 
far  out,  was  hardly  more  than  a  dozen  yards 
behind. 

At  length  the  fugitive,  as  if  pressed  beyond 
endurance  and  about  to  seek  retreat  in  some 
hole  in  the  rocks,  turned  and  ran  straight, 
in  what  seemed  to  be  a  last,  frantic  burst  of 
speed,  up  a  naked  slope,  the  crest  of  a  little 
rocky  ridge.  Reaching  the  crest,  he  vanished 
over  it  without  a  pause.  The  dog  came 
racing  up,  but  instead  of  following  on  over, 
as  the  fox  had  evidently  expected  him  to  do, 
he  checked  himself  abruptly  before  reaching 


356  THE   FEUD 

the  brink,  and  went  and  peered  down  with 
a  prudence  which  showed  that  he  was  not  so 
easily  to  be  entrapped. 

The  other  side  of  the  ridge  was  a  perpen- 
dicular drop  of  some  forty  or  fifty  feet  into 
a  raging  torrent. 

Had  he  not  stopped  himself  when  he 
did,  he  would  have  inevitably  plunged  over 
headlong,  and  the  affair  would  have  been 
settled  conclusively.  But,  fortunately  for 
him,  he  knew  the  place.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him,  even,  that  his  enemy  could  have 
expected  him  to  fall  over.  He  merely  thought 
that  the  fox  had  a  hiding-place  in  the 
crevices  under  the  brink,  and  what  concerned 
him  was  to  find  that  hiding-place. 

Presently  he  made  out  the  merest  shadow 
of  a  ledge  descending  for  a  few  feet  and 
vanishing  under  a  jutting  overhang.  The 
scent  of  the  fugitive  was  strong  on  this 
slender  and  perilous  track.  Only  a  creature 
of  marvellous  sure-footedness  and  lightness 
could  have  taken  it  securely.  For  the  dog 
it  was  utterly  impossible.  He  sniffed  at  it 
with  disgust,  and  then,  realizing  that  the 
brink  itself  was  showing  a  tendency  to  crumble 
under  his  weight,  he  drew  back,  sat  down 


THE   FEUD  357 

on  his  haunches,  lifted  his  muzzle  toward 
the  sky,  and  howled  his  wrathful  discomfiture. 
In  the  middle  of  this  outburst  he  chanced 
to  turn  his  head.  There,  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  steep,  not  twenty  paces  distant,  sat 
the  fox,  eyeing  him  from  narrowed  lids, 
inscrutably. 

The  dog  felt  all  at  once  that  he  was  being 
mocked.  It  was  a  new  and  humiliating 
experience  to  him.  Almost  blind  with  rage, 
he  darted  once  more  in  pursuit. 

This  time  the  fox  ran  off  in  a  new  direction, 
up  a  long,  broken  slope  traversed  by  bare 
ledges.  The  chase  led  at  length  through  a 
shallow  cleft,  which  narrowed  gradually  till 
the  rocks  met  overhead,  forming  a  flat 
arched  tunnel  perhaps  a  foot  and  a  half  in 
height.  Here,  along  the  dry  fissures,  pro- 
tected alike  from  the  rain  and  from  the 
attacks  of  the  honey-loving  bears,  a  runaway 
swarm  of  bees  had  established  itself  and 
multiplied  to  an  enormous  colony.  At  this 
hour  of  the  morning  the  bees  were  just 
beginning  to  stir  themsleves  and  get  ready 
for  the  day's  work  in  the  sun,  gathering  the 
perfumed  spring  pollen. 

The    fox    knew    well    this    perilous    passage, 


358  THE   FEUD 

having  surveyed  it  shrewdly  from  the  sides, 
though,  of  course,  he  had  never  ventured  to 
pass  through  it.  Now  he  lingered,  as  if 
cornered,  till  the  dog  was  within  a  dozen 
yards  of  him.  Then,  putting  on  a  tremendous 
burst  of  speed,  he  dashed  through  the  tunnel, 
elongating  himself  till  he  was  flat  to  earth, 
but  managing  to  flick  the  swarming  combs 
with  his  brush  as  he  sped  beneath  them. 
With  no  worse  punishment  than  two  or  three 
stings  and  a  few  bees  clinging  in  his  fur,  he 
passed  safely  through,  and  dashed  into  a 
dense  mass  of  bushes  to  scrape  off  his 
assailants.  But  he  left  the  bees  thoroughly 
aroused,  and  buzzing  with  anger. 

Into  this  scorching  vortex  of  live  flame 
the  dog  plunged  blindly.  In  a  second  he 
realized  the  situation.  Yelping  with  the 
sudden  torture,  he  backed  out,  covered  with 
bees  from  head  to  foot,  and  went  leaping 
convulsively  down  the  slope,  the  air  black 
and  humming  behind  him. 

By  sheer  good  luck  —  for  he  did  not  see  at 
all  where  he  was  going  —  he  crashed  through 
a  fringe  of  scrub  and  fell  into  a  deep,  icy 
pool.  The  relief  was  instantaneous,  and  the 
shock  brought  back  his  wits.  The  bees 


THE   FEUD  359 

which  clung  to  him  were  drowned  out, 
washed  off,  and  chilled  to  instant  harmless- 
ness.  When  he  came  to  the  surface,  certain 
members  of  the  following  hosts  pounced 
down  at  him,  but,  for  the  most  part,  the 
furious  insects  could  not  make  out  how  he 
had  vanished.  They  hung  humming  over 
the  bushes  and  over  the  pool,  but  they 
seemed  apprehensive  about  descending  too 
close  to  the  sunken  surface  of  the  water, 
repelled,  no  doubt,  by  the  darkness  and  the 
chill.  The  dog  thrust  his  head  under  a 
thick  tuft  of  wet  weeds,  where  it  was  well 
protected,  and  waited  there  for  the  insects  to 
get  tired  of  looking  for  him.  By  the  time 
this  arrived,  he  was  half  dead  with  cold;  but, 
dragging  himself  out  cautiously  and  slinking 
away  under  the  thickets,  he  gained  a  place 
where  he  could  lie  and  warm  himself  in  the 
sun.  Then,  with  eyes  and  nostrils  swollen 
and  burning,  and  his  whole  hide  smarting 
with  the  poison  that  had  been  pumped  into 
it  in  that  awful  half  minute,  he  made  his 
way  dejectedly  homeward. 

Now,  though  the  dog  was  very  far  from 
guessing  that  his  astute  antagonist  had 
deliberately  led  him  into  the  citadel  of  the 


360  THE   FEUD 

bees,  his  rage,  nevertheless,  burned  with 
sevenfold  heat  because  of  that  agonizing 
discomfiture.  The  next  time  the  fox  came 
to  the  farm  to  taunt  him,  he  took  up  the 
pursuit  with  such  a  fiery  vigour  that  the 
fugitive  was  for  a  while  somewhat  put  to  it 
to  keep  ahead.  This  time  the  chase  led 
away  in  quite  another  direction,  down  the 
valley  towards  the  dark  tamarack  swamps 
which  the  dog  had  never  been  tempted  to 
explore. 

There  was  now  no  playing  on  the  part  of 
the  fox.  Disappointed  in  his  former  schemes 
for  vengeance,  and  almost  daunted  at  last 
by  the  deadly  pertinacity  of  his  foe,  he  was 
beginning  to  grow  uneasy,  and  to  want  the 
affair  off  his  shoulders.  While  the  dog's 
rage  was  growing  daily,  his  own  craving  for 
vengeance  was  beginning  to  cool  as  his  grief 
for  his  slain  mate  moderated.  Life  was  full 
of  interest,  and  he  wanted  to  think  of  other 
things  than  this  feud.  He  was  none  the  less 
resolved,  however,  that  his  enemy  should  be 
punished.  So  to-day  he  ran  straight  to  his 
purpose,  with  the  grim  pursuer  close  on  his 
heels. 

In    a    secret    place    in    the    swamp,     some 


THE   FEUD  361 

twenty-four  hours  earlier,  a  bear  cub  had 
been  born.  The  place  was  hard  to  come  at, 
over  narrow  causeways  of  twisted  roots  and 
fallen,  slippery  trunks,  but,  when  reached,  it 
was  little  more  than  a  shallow  recess  under  a 
boulder,  with  a  big  cedar  slanting  in  front 
of  it.  The  mother  bear  lay  here  on  a  bed  of 
dry  moss,  nursing  her  baby,  and  from  time 
to  time  glaring  jealously  about  the  sombre 
shades  as  if  she  expected  something  to  come 
and  try  to  snatch  the  little  one  from  her 
embrace. 

At  the  moment  when  the  fox  appeared^ 
running  noiselessly,  the  bear  was  not  looking. 
Her  great  black  head  was  bent  down  while 
she  licked  and  snuggled  the  cub.  A  ruddy 
shape  touched  the  moss  close  beside  her,  and 
was  gone  even  before  she  could  lift  her  head, 
leaving  a  taint  on  the  heavy  air.  In  a  blaze 
of  anger  and  alarm,  she  thrust  the  whimpering 
little  one  behind  her  and  sat  up  on  her 
haunches  just  as  the  dog,  with  a  startled  yelp, 
brought  up  sharply  within  two  feet  of  her. 
He  had  barely  saved  himself  from  jumping 
square  on  top  of  her. 

With  all  his  courage  and  his  craving  for  a 
fight,  the  dog  had  no  wish  to  tackle  a  mother 


362  THE   FEUD 

bear  suckling  her  cub.  He  sprang  aside, 
striving  to  retreat  the  way  he  came.  But 
the  bear,  hurling  her  massive  bulk  forward 
with  amazing  agility,  had  instantly  cut  off 
that  retreat.  Doubling  on  himself,  he  leaped 
for  another  prostrate  trunk  which  offered  a 
way  over  the  ooze-pit.  He  gained  it,  but 
it  was  slippery  with  ancient  slime,  and 
he  missed  his  foothold,  his  hindquarters 
dropping  back  into  the  black  mud.  Shrinking 
small  and  hunching  his  back  desperately,  he 
clawed  at  the  hard  trunk  and  strove  to  draw 
himself  clear  of  the  impending  doom.  But 
even  as  he  strove,  with  open  mouth  and 
protruding  tongue  and  frightened,  staring 
eyes,  a  great  black  paw  descended  upon 
him,  smashing  his  back.  The  bull  blood  in 
him,  asserting  itself  at  this  supreme  moment, 
forbade  him  to  cry  out,  and,  writhing  himself 
about,  he  locked  his  jaws  upon  that  shattering 
paw.  The  next  second  he  was  twitched 
forth  upon  the  moss,  and  crushed  out  of  all 
resemblance  to  a  dog.  And  as  the  bear,  in 
her  mother  rage,  mauled  and  tore  the  lifeless 
body,  the  fox,  sitting  on  his  haunches  some 
forty  feet  away,  looked  on  and  licked  his 
chaps,  content  at  last  with  his  vengeance. 


Red   Dandy  and   MacTavish 


first  of  the  dawn  lay  pink  and  dewy 
JL  chill  along  the  naked,  tilted  crest  of 
the  Ridge,  Slowly  it  crept  down  the  scarred 
rocks,  washed  softly  over  the  tangled  thickets, 
and  at  last  shot  its  thin,  aerial  rays  of  light 
and  colour  down  the  glades  and  under  the 
branches  of  the  ash,  chestnut,  and  maples, 
just  filming  with  their  earliest  spring  green. 
Into  a  deep  little  hollow  last  it  came  —  a 
hollow  carpeted  with  dry  twigs,  half  choked 
with  vine  and  bramble,  and  overhung  by  the 
branches  of  two  enormous  chestnuts.  It  was 
so  secret  a  hollow  that  the  long,  pink  fingers 
of  light  felt  their  way  in  with  difficulty,  and 
seemed  to  grope  for  a  while  before  finding 
anything  to  reveal.  At  last,  however,  they 
did  find  something,  and  immediately,  as  if 
pleased  at  the  discovery,  they  lit  up  the 
hollow  with  a  sudden  flush  of  pale  rose- 
amber. 

363 


364    RED   DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH 

What  the  delicate  light  revealed  was  a 
young  fawn,  whose  immense,  mild,  liquid 
eyes  met  it  wonderingly.  Curled  up  under 
a  bush,  his  red-tawny  coat,  mottled  with 
cream  yellow,  made  him,  as  a  rule,  almost 
indistinguishable  from  his  bed  of  mottled 
brown  leaves.  But  that  peculiar,  crystalline 
yet  tinted  light  of  earliest  dawn  made  him 
suddenly  conspicuous.  After  a  moment  or 
two  of  wonder,  he  seemed  to  become  aware 
that  he  was  no  longer  invisible.  He  dropped 
his  baby  head  between  his  hooves,  and 
appeared  to  shrink  into  a  guarded  immobility. 
It  was  almost  as  if  by  sheer  unconscious 
volition  his  colours  became  less  bright,  and 
he  began  to  fade,  through  mere  stillness, 
back  into  his  surroundings. 

But  that  instant's  motion,  the  lowering  of 
his  head,  had  been  enough  to  make  trouble. 
It  had  caught  the  attention  of  a  pair  of 
vigilant  and  cruel  eyes  at  the  upper  edge 
of  the  hollow.  A  prowling,  shadowy-grey 
shape,  as  noiseless  as  the  motion  of  the  dawn 
itself,  crouched  suddenly  flat  to  earth  and 
glared  down  with  terrible  intentness  at  the 
ruddy,  mottled  little  form  beneath  the  bush. 
A  second  shadowy  shape,  with  similar  pale, 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    365 

piercing,  moon-like  eyes,  stole  up  and  crouched 
beside  the  first. 

They  were  sinister-looking  beasts,  the  two 
lynxes,  each  nearly  forty  pounds  in  weight, 
with  immense,  panther-like  paws,  and  muscles 
like  steel  moving  swiftly  under  their  loose, 
long  fur.  Their  hindquarters  were  of 
exaggerated  size  and  power  as  compared 
with  the  forequarters,  and  their  hind  legs 
were  gathered  under  them,  ready  for  an 
instant  spring,  in  such  a  fashion  as  to 
suggest  some  monstrous  and  predatory  hare. 
Their  tails  were  mere  thick  stubs,  apparently 
quite  futile  as  far  as  concerned  all  customary 
uses  of  a  tail.  Their  round,  malign  faces 
were  fiercely  whiskered,  surrounded  by  a  sort 
of  ruff  of  long  fur  curling  forward  from 
beneath  the  jaws,  and  their  ears  were  tipped 
with  long,  stiff  tufts.  In  colour  they  were 
of  a  light  grey,  powdered  vaguely  with  a 
pale  yellow-brown  —  a  colouring  which  made 
them  all  but  invisible  in  the  shadowed  woods, 
except  for  the  startling  brilliancy  of  their 
wide  pale  eyes. 

Both  lynxes  stared  unwinkingly  for  a  few 
long  seconds  at  the  unconscious  fawn,  whose 
mild  eyes  were  turned  in  another  direction, 


366    RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH 

watching  anxiously  for  his  mother's  return. 
All  at  once,  though  not  a  sound,  a  whisper, 
had  come  to  his  ears,  some  subtle  warning 
thrilled  his  baby  nerves,  and  he  turned  his 
head  to  glance  behind  him. 

Two  dim,  grey  things,  with  dreadful  eyes 
fixed  upon  his,  were  creeping  down  into  the 
hollow. 

The  fawn  was  not  many  hours  old.  He 
had  so  far  learned  nothing,  either  of  lynxes 
or  of  death.  But  he  needed  no  learning  to 
know  that  those  two  dim  shapes  meant 
doom.  Opening  wide  his  narrow  muzzle,  he 
cried  out  for  his  mother  —  a  strange,  strident 
cry,  half  bleat,  half  yelp,  but  quite  un- 
mistakable in  its  terror  and  its  appeal. 

The  cry  was  answered  instantly  by  a  clear 
belling  from  close  at  hand,  and  almost  in 
the  next  second  the  mother  doe  arrived, 
coming  in  one  tremendous  leap  clean  over 
the  nearest  bushes.  It  was  not  by  any  means 
her  customary  way  of  coming  home.  On 
other  occasions  she  would  drift  in  silently, 
not  so  much  as  snapping  a  twig.  But  when 
danger  threatened  her  little  one,  she  threw 
prudence  to  the  breezes  and  came  by  the 
shortest  road. 


RED  DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    367 

With  a  soft  little  murmur  of  reassurance, 
the  red  mother  nosed  her  fawn,  sniffing  it 
all  over  as  if  to  ask  what  ailed  it.  It  was 
shivering,  and  after  a  few  moments  she 
looked  up,  glancing  about  to  see  what  had 
so  frightened  it. 

At  the  sudden,  vehement  appearance  of 
the  doe,  both  lynxes  had  stopped  abruptly, 
crouching  in  readiness  for  whatever  might 
take  place.  When  they  saw  the  mother's 
head  bent  low,  and  all  her  attention  absorbed 
in  the  little  one,  they  again  stole  forward. 
But  now  they  separated,  one  creeping  to  the 
right,  the  other  to  the  left.  They  knew  that 
a  mother  deer,  in  the  protection  of  her  young, 
was  an  antagonist  too  formidable  for  one 
lynx  alone  to  engage;  but,  by  attacking  her 
on  both  flanks  at  once,  they  trusted  to  confuse 
her,  and  so  avoid  the  lightning  strokes  of  her 
dangerous,  knife-edged  hooves. 

When  the  doe  lifted  her  head  to  look 
around,  she  saw  the  implacable  eyes  of  the 
male  lynx,  not  fifteen  feet  away,  just  gather- 
ing himself  for  the  spring.  Experienced  in 
battle,  she  did  not  wait  for  that  deadly 
pounce,  but,  with  a  shrill  snort  of  defiance, 
she  leaped  to  meet  it,  prancing  forward  with 


368    RED   DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH 

indescribable  lightness,  her  polished,  pointed 
hooves,  hard  as  steel,  striking  out  savagely 
before  her. 

With  a  snarl,  the  lynx  jumped  backwards, 
not  daring  to  face  the  strokes.  Instinctively 
the  doe  glanced  behind  her,  to  see  that  the 
little  one  was  still  safe.  The  she  lynx  was 
in  the  very  motion  of  springing  upon  her. 
She  was  not  in  time  to  evade  the  spring,  but 
she  was  in  time  to  meet  it  ineffectually  with 
one  short,  cutting  stroke.  Such  a  stroke 
could  not  stop  the  great  cat's  pounce,  already 
launched,  but  it  ripped  a  long  red  gash 
down  the  grey  flank,  and  so  diverted  the 
attack  that  the  assailant's  claws  were  sunk 
into  the  shoulders  of  their  prey,  instead  of 
into  the  throat. 

With  a  sharp  belling,  the  doe  leaped  into 
the  air,  striving  to  shake  her  assailant  off. 
Finding  this  effort  vain,  she  darted  under  a 
branch,  hoping  to  scrape  the  fatal  rider  from 
her  place.  In  this  she  was  successful;  but 
before  she  could  turn  and  defend  herself 
again,  the  male  lynx  had  her  by  the  throat, 
strangling  her.  The  next  moment  the  female 
was  again  upon  her  shoulders,  tearing  at  her 
neck  and  ripping  her  flank  with  those  eviscer- 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    369 

ating  hinder  claws.  She  belled  chokingly, 
and  struggled  with  desperate,  plunging  leaps. 
But  in  a  couple  of  minutes  the  lynxes  had 
borne  her  down,  and  in  a  few  seconds  more 
her  life-blood  was  flooding  forth  scarlet  and 
hot  upon  the  withered  leaves. 


II 


MACTAVISH  sat  on  the  very  peak  of  the 
Ridge,  and  stared  with  calm  eyes  into  the 
spreading  miracle  of  the  dawn.  In  the 
crook  of  his  left  arm  rested  his  handy  .303, 
its  blued  barrel  gleaming  in  the  clean,  thin 
radiance.  His  big  right  hand  fingered  his 
red  beard  complacently.  That  sunrise  seemed 
to  him  just  as  it  should  be.  The  faint 
rose  tints,  the  amber,  the  gold,  of  a  trans- 
parency altogether  inexplicable  and  almost 
unbelievable,  played  along  his  rugged  but 
fine-strung  nerves  like  the  long,  slow  notes 
of  a  fiddle  beside  a  still  water  under  a  mid- 
summer moon. 

Scotch,  Welsh,  and  English  in  his  veins, 
MacTavish  was  a  mixture  more  or  less 
enigmatic  even  to  himself.  He  shrank  from 


370    RED  DANDY  AND  MACTAVISH 

hurting  anything,  yet  he  was  a  keen  hunter, 
and  he  loved  a  good  fight.  On  his  way  from 
his  cabin  in  to  the  Settlement,  twenty  miles 
away  across  the  valley,  he  had  started  up  the 
western  slope  a  half-hour  earlier  than  was 
necessary  —  quite  in  the  dark,  in  fact  —  just  in 
order  to  see  the  first  of  the  sunrise  from  the 
crest  of  the  Ridge,  its  celestial  flood  breaking 
over  the  wide  valley  below  him.  But  he 
would  not  acknowledge  to  himself  that  this 
was  his  reason  for  coming  up  so  early.  He 
had  several  other  reasons  ready,  but  he  knew 
in  his  heart  that  they  had  no  weight  at  all. 
They  only  served  to  veil  to  himself  this  guilty 
passion  of  his  for  sunrises  and  sunsets,  and 
other  beautiful  but  practically  useless  affairs. 

Never,  thought  MacTavish,  tugging  at  his 
red  beard  with  slow  intensity  of  enjoyment, 
had  he  seen  that  great  view  from  the  Ridge 
more  entrancing,  never  a  sunrise  that  was 
more  perfect  in  its  sorcery.  He  hardly  dared 
to  breathe,  lest  it  should  change  in  a  flash  to 
some  other  and  less  lovely  combination  of 
tones.  The  stillness  was  almost  terrible  in 
its  perfection  —  as  it  were  of  an  infinite  bubble 
blown  to  its  utmost  limit  and  colouring  by 
a  miracle. 


RED  DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    371 

And  then  it  broke.  From  the  hollow 
below  came  a  medley  of  furious  sounds  — 
snarls,  cries,  strugglings  —  the  unmistakable 
utterance  of  a  life-and-death  encounter.  The 
mystic  light  upon  the  rocks,  the  thickets,  the 
greening  trees,  suddenly  changed,  became 
more  familiar,  more  ordinary,  something 
almost  in  the  line  of  the  day's  routine  return. 
MacTavish  drew  a  long  breath,  as  of  one 
released  from  a  strong  spell.  He  snatched  up 
his  rifle,  and  darted  swiftly  but  quietly  down 
the  slope  to  the  bushy  hollow  where  the 
sounds  seemed  to  come  from. 

The  faithful  mother  had  ceased  struggling, 
and  the  lynxes,  not  yet  quite  assured  of  their 
victory,  were  both  tearing  ferociously  at  her 
throat  when  MacTavish  appeared.  With 
harsh  snarls  —  enraged  beyond  all  discretion 
at  this  interference  in  the  hour  of  victory  — 
they  turned  and  confronted  him,  as  if  almost 
minded  to  try  conclusions  with  him.  Up 
went  MacTavish's  handy  gun,  and  the  male 
lynx  sprang  straight  into  the  air,  with  all  four 
legs  stretched  rigid,  to  fall  back,  relaxed 
and  sprawling,  across  the  neck  of  his  victim. 
Before  he  was  fairly  down,  the  female  was 
gone  —  simply  vanishing,  as  if  the  report  of 


372    RED   DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH 

the  rifle  had  blown  her  away.  MacTavish 
saw  no  more  of  her  than  an  instant's  drift  of 
grey  between  one  thicket  and  another. 

MacTavish  picked  up  his  trophy,  appraised 
it  with  skilled  eye  as  a  good  pelt,  then  flung 
it  down  carelessly,  a  little  chagrined  at  not 
having  been  quick  enough  to  secure  both  the 
grey  marauders.  He  examined  the  doe  to 
make  sure  she  was  quite  dead,  produced  a 
few  yards  of  stout  cord  from  his  capacious 
pocket,  and  strung  the  body  up  by  the  hind 
legs  to  a  branch  overhead,  out  of  the  way  of 
the  foxes.  Then  he  turned  to  the  fawn. 

The  little  animal  had  been  watching,  from 
its  place,  with  immense  blank  eyes  of  stupe- 
faction. So  many  sudden  horrors  had  left 
it  numb  in  its  utter  incomprehension.  When 
MacTavish  gently  went  up  to  it,  holding  out 
his  hand,  it  hardly  even  shrank  away.  But 
when  he  indiscreetly  laid  his  hand  upon  its 
muzzle,  the  dreaded  man-smell  shocked  it, 
and  it  struggled  to  its  feet,  repeating  that 
strident  and  piteous  cry  of  appeal  to  the 
mother  who  was  now  so  deaf  to  it.  Feebly 
it  strove  to  get  away.  But  MacTavish  had 
it  fast.  He  held  it  firmly,  but  he  stroked  it 
gently,  rubbing  its  back  and  its  neck.  And 


RED   DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH    373 

presently,  puzzled,  but  in  part  reassured  by 
the  smell  of  its  mother,  which  blended  so 
curiously  with  the  man-smell  on  MacTavish's 
clothes,  it  stopped  its  strange  cries  and  lay 
still  in  the  hunter's  arms,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  of  anxious  inquiry. 

"Poor  wee  beastie!"  murmured  Mac- 
Tavish,  holding  it  as  tenderly  as  if  it  had 
been  a  human  baby.  And  then,  remembering 
his  beloved  Burns:  "'Wee  sleekit,  cowering 
timorous  beastie!" 

For  a  few  moments  he  stood  hesitating. 
He  had  set  out  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Settle- 
ment, and  he  was  not  one  to  lightly  change 
his  plans.  But  the  needs  of  the  little  animal 
were  a  peremptory  demand  on  his  under- 
standing heart.  Another  day  would  do  for 
the  trip  to  the  Settlement.  He  slung  the 
dead  lynx  over  his  shoulder,  settled  the  fawn 
more  or  less  comfortably  in  his  left  arm,  and 
started  back  for  his  cabin,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Ridge. 

Ill 

IN  MacTavish's  snug  cabin,  tended  and 
petted,  the  fawn  speedily  forgot  the  horrors 
which  had  surrounded  its  first  appearance 


374    RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH 

on  the  stage  of  life.  It  learned  at  once  to 
drink  warm  cow's  milk,  and  a  little  later  to 
browse,  not  only  on  the  grass  of  MacTavish's 
pasture-clearing,  but  also  on  the  choicest 
vegetable  products  of  his  little  garden. 
MacTavish  spoiled  it  shockingly,  but  it 
rewarded  him  with  a  dog-like  devotion  that 
might  almost  at  times  have  seemed  a 
nuisance.  It  was  for  ever  at  his  heels,  and 
as  it  seemed  constitutionally  incapable  of 
learning  obedience,  whenever  he  did  not 
wish  to  be  followed  he  had  to  shut  it  up 
securely  in  the  barn,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
its  terrible  penetrating  appeals. 

In  course  of  months  the  little  one's  coat 
lost  its  creamy  spots  and  became  all  a  rich, 
tawny  red,  shading  to  pale  buff  on  the  under- 
parts,  and  he  grew  up  into  a  particularly 
handsome  and  high-stepping  young  buck. 
It  was  then  that  his  name  was  changed 
from  "Beastie"  to  "Red  Dandy."  Gradually 
now  he  got  to  be  on  fair  terms,  not  friendly, 
but  condescendingly  tolerant  terms,  with  the 
black-and-white  cow,  the  yearling  calf,  and 
the  two  big,  sleepy,  carrot-coloured  oxen 
who  did  MacTavish's  ploughing  and  haul- 
ing. When  his  first  horns  began  to  sprout, 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    375 

he  gradually  established  an  uncontested 
supremacy  over  all  these  easy-going  folk  of 
the  farmyard.  In  spite  of  his  slimness  and 
his  small  stature,  he  had  them  at  a  complete 
disadvantage,  for  he  could  always  prod  them 
where  he  liked,  or  buffet  them  cruelly  with 
his  fore-hooves,  and  then  evade  their  resent- 
ment with  scornful  ease.  So,  to  save  them- 
selves trouble,  they  gave  way  to  his  tyranny 
until  it  became  a  habit  with  them.  This 
domination,  no  doubt,  was  rendered  easier 
for  him  to  secure  by  reason  of  the  terms  of 
favour  on  which  he  lived  with  MacTavish. 
Spending  half  his  time  in  the  cabin,  trotting 
at  MacTavish's  heels,  or  at  his  side  with 
MacTavish 's  arm  over  his  back,  the  other 
animals  easily  came  to  regard  him  as  sharing 
some  small  measure  of  MacTavish's  authority. 
It  was  perhaps  a  fortunate  thing  for  all 
concerned  that  there  was  no  dog  or  cat  about 
the  place  to  divide  MacTavish's  affections, 
for  Red  Dandy  was  as  jealous  as  a  Spanish 
gipsy. 

Red  Dandy,  as  he  developed  into  a  full- 
sized,  high-antlered  buck,  developed  also 
two  antipathies  —  towards  the  pig  and 
towards  all  snakes.  For  the  first  there  was 


376    RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH 

no  apparent  reason,  and,  whenever  he  was 
caught  manifesting  it,  he  got  a  sharp  horse- 
whipping from  MacTavish,  which  would  send 
him  off  snorting  to  sulk  for  perhaps  ten 
minutes  behind  the  barn.  He  used  to  stand 
beside  the  pen  and  thrust  at  the  unoffending 
grunter  through  the  cracks.  To  avoid 
accidents,  MacTavish  ran  the  walls  of  the 
sty  to  a  discouraging  height,  and  nailed  up 
the  cracks  between  the  boards. 

When  this  was  done,  Red  Dandy  appeared 
to  forget  the  existence  of  pigs.  But  for 
snakes  he  was  always  hunting,  stealing  up 
sunny  hillocks  in  the  effort  to  surprise 
them  basking,  or  beating  the  coverts  of 
"  snake-brake "  with  his  antlers  to  frighten 
them  forth  into  the  open,  where  he  might 
trample  them  with  his  sharp  and  nimble 
hooves.  In  this  antipathy  he  had  his 
master's  heartfelt  co-operation,  for,  to  Mac- 
Tavish's  somewhat  childlike  eyes,  all  snakes, 
the  bright,  harmless  little  garter-snakes  no 
less  than  the  deadly  moccasin  or  copper- 
head, were  children  of  the  devil.  This 
seemed  to  be  exactly  the  point  of  view  of 
Red  Dandy  as  well.  He  would  pursue  a 
tiny,  innocent,  pale-green  grass-snake,  eight  or 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    377 

ten  inches  long,  with  the  same  gay,  danc- 
ing fury  that  he  devoted  to  the  destruction 
of  a  six-foot  black-snake  or  blue-racer.  But 
when  it  came  to  either  an  adder  or  a  copper- 
head, then  he  was  as  cool  and  wary  as  a 
trained  fencer.  He  knew  —  who  shall  say 
how,  since  MacTavish  never  taught  him  ?  — 
very  well  the  difference  between  the  snakes 
whose  bite  meant  death  and  those  which 
bore  no  poison-fangs  in  their  jaws. 

It  happened  that  the  southward  slopes  of 
the  Ridge,  being  sheltered  from  all  the  harsher 
winds  and  full  of  sun-steeped  ledges,  were  a 
favourite  haunt  of  the  copper-head,  which 
nowhere  else  managed  to  maintain  itself  so 
far  north.  From  time  to  time,  when  some 
one  was  bitten,  there  would  be  a  move  among 
the  scattered  settlers  in  both  valleys  toward  a 
concerted  campaign  for  the  extermination  of 
the  virulent  pests.  But,  for  the  most  part, 
the  copper-heads  kept  to  the  out-of-the-way 
ledges  and  inaccessible  ravines,  and  so  avoided 
making  themselves  conspicuous.  They  did  not 
court  notoriety,  and  therefore  they  were  apt 
to  be  forgotten. 

MacTavish,  as  a  rule,  never  thought  of 
them.  But  he  thought  of  them  abruptly  on 


378    RED  DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH 

the  morning  when  the  rocky  lip  where  he 
was  standing  to  drink  in  the  view  suddenly 
scaled  off  beneath  his  weight,  and  he  felt 
himself  falling  down  the  bare,  terrific  incline. 
The  incline  was  almost  perpendicular,  and  he 
fell  swiftly,  amid  a  whirl  of  dusty  stones  and 
a  bright,  hot  glow,  into  the  very  face  of  the 
landscape.  He  scraped  over  a  narrow  ledge, 
clutched  wildly  at  a  bush  which  grew  upon  it, 
and  was  greeted  with  a  savage  hiss  which 
seemed  to  him  just  in  his  ear.  His  hair 
rose,  and  he  let  go  of  the  bush,  and  felt  for 
the  moment  an  actual  relief  in  the  fact 
that  he  kept  right  on  falling.  Then  his 
head  struck  a  projecting  root,  he  bounced 
from  a  second  ledge,  lost  consciousness,  fell 
more  expeditiously,  and  rolled  to  the  bottom 
with  a  broken  leg  and  a  pattering  company 
of  stones  of  assorted  sizes. 

He  knew  nothing  about  it,  of  course,  but 
those  almost  too  attentive  stones  were  his 
bodyguard,  and  for  the  moment  an  effective 
one.  Hissing  and  rattling  indignantly,  a 
basking  family  of  copper-heads  scattered  and 
scurried  away,  routed  by  the  shower  of  stony 
missiles.  In  a  few  seconds  the  dust  settled, 
and  the  last  of  the  stones  lay  still.  And  so 


RED   DANDY  AND   MAcTAVISH    379 

did  MacTavish,  for  he  had  been  well  battered 
in  that  unceremonious  descent,  and  the  knock 
on  his  skull  had  been  a  shrewd  one. 

At  the  time  of  MacTavish's  fall,  Red 
Dandy  had  been  close  behind,  nosing  with 
fine  velvet  muzzle  at  his  master's  pocket  to 
see  if  it  held  anything  for  him.  He  jumped 
back  with  a  snort  at  MacTavish's  amazing 
disappearance,  and  drew  off  resentfully.  He 
was  not  accustomed  to  seeing  his  master 
behave  with  such  abruptness,  or  go  away 
without  giving  him  time  to  follow.  For 
several  minutes  he  stalked  back  and  forth, 
with  head  held  very  high  and  a  puzzled  look 
in  his  eyes.  Then,  beginning  to  get  lonely, 
he  went  to  the  brink  of  the  steep  and 
cautiously  peered  over.  His  feet  displaced 
some  small  stones,  which  went  rattling  down 
and  struck  MacTavish  smartly.  The  buck 
expected  to  see  him  jump  up  and  get  angry 
at  this.  But  instead  of  that  he  lay  perfectly 
still. 

Red  Dandy  grew  troubled.  He  went  close 
to  the  edge,  pushed  a  few  more  stones  down 
upon  MacTavish,  and  seemed  to  dally  for  a 
moment  with  the  notion  of  trying  to  slide 
down  after  them  himself.  No  doubt  he 


38o    RED   DANDY  AND  MACTAVISH 

would  have  succeeded  in  sliding  down,  but  a 
doubt  as  to  how  he  would  arrive  gave  him 
pause.  He  snorted  uneasily,  drew  back  from 
the  brink,  stood  fretting  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  started  along  the  crest  of  the 
Ridge  in  search  of  an  easier  way  down. 

When  all  had  been  quiet  for  some  time 
at  the  foot  of  the  steep,  several  of  the  copper- 
heads, shining  with  a  dull  glow  in  the  sun, 
came  gliding  warily  back  towards  their 
basking-place.  The  patriarch  of  the  tribe, 
a  thick-bodied,  beautifully-patterned  fellow, 
nearly  six  feet  long,  led  the  way.  He  came 
to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  unconscious 
MacTavish,  gave  a  warning  rattle,  and  coiled 
himself  to  strike.  His  followers  withdrew 
with  petulant  hissings,  cheerfully  leaving  all 
the  glory  to  him. 

As  MacTavish  did  not  move,  the  snake 
did  not  strike.  He  waited,  the  picture  of 
readiness,  his  flat,  opaque  eyes  fixed  on  the 
mysterious  object  which  had  arrived  so 
mysteriously  among  them.  He  waited  for 
possibly  ten  minutes.  Then,  satisfied  that 
the  object  was  not  alive,  and  not  dangerous, 
he  uncoiled  and  started  to  wriggle  away. 

At       this       moment      MacTavish      partially 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    381 

came  to.  He  moved  an  arm.  He  tried  to 
move  his  right  leg.  A  groan  came  from 
his  throat.  The  great  snake  recoiled  him- 
self in  a  flash,  and  rattled  his  loud  warning 
like  the  gentlemanly  fighter  that  he  was. 

At  that  ominous  sound,  MacTavish  came 
to  completely,  with  all  his  wits  about  him. 
He  did  not  move  a  muscle,  except  to  open 
his  eyes  slowly  and  peer  about  him.  He  did 
not  have  to  peer  about  much,  for  there  was 
the  great  copper-head  straight  in  front  of 
his  face,  with  head  gently  swaying,  within 
range  and  ready  to  strike. 

MacTavish  thought  hard.  He  knew  that 
his  enemy  would  not  strike  so  long  as  he 
kept  perfectly  still.  But  he  knew  also  that 
the  snake  now  knew  he  was  alive,  and  there- 
fore might  wait  rather  indefinitely.  How 
long  would  he  be  able  to  keep  still?  His 
broken  leg  was  beginning  to  torture  him 
savagely.  Other  snakes  would  presently 
come  out  of  their  hidings.  How  would  he 
ever  be  able  to  drag  himself  away  without 
bringing  them  upon  him.  The  cold  sweat 
jumped  out  all  over  his  body.  Then  he 
felt  his  head  swim  again,  and  his  wits  again 
beginning  to  slip  away.  In  an  icy  terror,  he 


382    RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH 

clutched  them  back  to  their  duty,  horrified 
lest  he  should  move  in  his  unconsciousness. 
But,  weak  as  he  was,  he  began  to  contemplate 
futile  schemes,  such  as  clutching  up  a  hand- 
ful of  stones  and  pelting  the  enemy  away, 
though  he  knew  very  well  that  the  enemy 
could  strike  at  least  three  or  four  times  as 
fast  as  he  could  move  his  arm. 

The  agony  and  suspense  and  confusion 
in  his  head  were  beginning  to  overcome  him 
once  more,  when  he  caught  a  sound  of  light 
hooves  behind  him.  He  dared  not  turn  his 
head  to  look,  but  he  felt  who  it  was,  and  his 
brain  cleared  again.  He  saw  the  coiled  snake 
shift  his  head  so  as  to  give  another  focus 
to  the  curve  of  its  swing. 

A  moment  more,  and  Red  Dandy  came 
mincing  into  view,  dancing  that  delicate 
war-dance  with  which  he  was  wont  to 
challenge  the  unresponsive  pig.  He  swerved 
off  to  one  side,  drawing  the  copper-head's 
attention  away  from  MacTavish.  Then  he 
warily  presented  the  tips  of  his  antlers, 
just  within  reach.  The  snake  struck  like 
lightning  twice,  spilling  his  venom  harm- 
lessly over  the  impenetrable  horn.  Teased 
by  that  exasperating  antler,  he  struck  again 


RED   DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH    383 

and  again,  till  at  last  not  a  drop  more  venom 
came.  Then,  realizing  suddenly  that  his 
fighting  powers  were  gone  till  he  could 
secure  them  time  to  recuperate,  he  swiftly 
uncoiled  and  darted  for  shelter. 

But,  quick  as  he  was,  the  buck  was  too 
quick  for  him.  A  keen-edged  hoof,  slicing 
downwards  with  vindictive  force,  struck 
him  on  the  back  of  the  neck  just  where  it 
ran  into  the  skull.  That  stroke  severed  the 
tough  scales  and  shore  the  vertebral  column 
clean  through. 

The  deadly  head  dropped  forward,  utterly 
powerless,  but  the  body,  packed  with 
vitality  and  force,  writhed  itself  up  in 
hideous,  lashing  coils.  With  one  more 
stroke,  Red  Dandy  smashed  the  impotent 
head.  Then  he  stamped  and  trampled  down 
the  writhing  coils,  till  they  were  chopped 
into  bits,  and  his  trim  fetlocks  streamed  with 
blood.  Not  while  there  was  anything  left 
to  writhe,  would  he  give  up  his  performance 
or  accept  his  victory  as  complete. 

MacTavish,  feeling  quite  safe  now  as  far 
as  snakes  were  concerned,  let  himself  go  for 
a  little.  When  he  came  to  again,  he  felt 
better,  and  Red  Dandy  was  standing  beside 


384    RED  DANDY  AND  MAcTAVISH 

him,  sniffing  at  his  face.  He  fondled  the 
narrow,  soft  muzzle  for  a  minute  or  two, 
expressing  his  unqualified  admiration  for  his 
rescuer's  courage  and  craft;  and  then,  setting 
his  teeth  grimly,  he  started  on  the  slow  and 
agonizing  crawl  down  to  the  nearest  farm- 
stead. 


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